I continued unheeding, only to note
with surprise a few minutes later that the sun was shining on the
dense green jungle about me as brilliantly as ever and that I was
dry again as when I had set out in the morning.
"The boss" returned, and when I had eaten the crackers and the
bottle of pink lemonade he brought, we pushed on toward the
Pacific. Till at length in mid-afternoon we came to the top of the
descent to Pedro Miguel and knew that the end of our district was
at hand. So powerful was the breeze from the Atlantic that our six
man-power engine sweated profusely as they toiled against it, even
on the downgrade of the return to Empire.
To "Scotty" had been assigned my Empire "recalls" and I had been
given a new and virgin territory,--namely, the town of Paraiso. It
lies "somewhat back from the village street," that is, the P.R.R.
Indeed, trains do not deign to notice its existence except on
Sundays. But there is the temporary bridge over the canal which
few engineers venture to "snake her across" at any great speed,
and the enumerator housed in Empire need not even be a graduate
"hobo" to be able to drop off there a bit after seven in the
morning and prance away up the chamois path into the town.
Wherever on the Zone you espy a town of two-story skeleton
screened buildings scattered over hills, with winding gravel roads
and trees and flowers between there you may be sure live American
"gold" employees.
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