"Jot of chewin'," was the reply.

The scaler took from the shelf a long plug of tobacco and cut off
two inches.

"Ain't hitting the van much, are you, Albert?" he commented, putting
the man's name and the amount in a little book. Thorpe went out,
after leaving his name for the time book, enlightened as to the
method of obtaining supplies. He promised himself some warm clothing
from the van, when he should have worked out the necessary credit.

At supper he learned something else,--that he must not talk at
table. A moment's reflection taught him the common-sense of the
rule. For one thing, supper was a much briefer affair than it
would have been had every man felt privileged to take his will in
conversation; not to speak of the absence of noise and the presence
of peace. Each man asked for what he wanted.

"Please pass the beans," he said with the deliberate intonation
of a man who does not expect that his request will be granted.

Besides the beans were fried salt pork, boiled potatoes, canned
corn, mince pie, a variety of cookies and doughnuts, and strong
green tea. Thorpe found himself eating ravenously of the crude fare.

That evening he underwent a catechism, a few practical jokes, which
he took good-naturedly, and a vast deal of chaffing. At nine the
lights were all out. By daylight he and a dozen other men were at
work, hewing a road that had to be as smooth and level as a New
York boulevard.