By
day he lay on his back in the right hand seat of a locomotive cab
with his hand on the throttle and the soles of his shoes on the
boiler plate--he was just long enough to fit into that position
without wrinkling. During the early evening he lay on his back in
a stout Mission rocking-chair on the front porch of House 35,
Empire, C.Z. And about 8 P. M. daily he retired within to lie on
his back on a regulation I.C.C. metal cot--they are stoutly built
--one pine half-inch from my own. Obviously twenty-four hours a day
of such onerous occupation had left some slight effects on his
figure. His shape was strikingly similar to that of a push-ball.
Had he fallen down at the top of Ancon or Balboa hill it would
have been an even bet whether he would have rolled down sidewise
or endwise--if his general type of build and specifications will
permit any such distinction.
When I first came upon him, reposing serenely in the porch
rocking-chair on the cushion that upholstered his spinal column, I
was pleased. Clearly he was no "rough-neck"--he couldn't have been
and kept his figure. There was no question but that he was
perfectly harmless; his stories ought to prove cheerful and laugh-
provoking and kindly. His very presence seemed to promise to raise
several degrees the merriment in that corner of House 85.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84