someone whom Mort jostled a few feet from the bottom.
Mort edged over and dropped to the floor. He gave the speaker a keen look.
"Hello! Oh; it's you?" he muttered with a scowl; "Ralph Fairbanks."
The person addressed responded with a short nod. Then he continued to mount the ladder in an easy, agile way.
"Hold on," challenged Bemis.
He had planted his feet apart, and had fixed a fierce and malignant glance upon the newcomer.
Suspicion, disappointment, and rage showed plainly in his coarse, sullen face.
There was something in the striking contrast between himself and the other that galled Mort.
He was "down and out," he realized, while the neat, cheery, ambitious lad whom he had hailed, three years his junior, was "going up the ladder" in more ways than one.
The latter wore a new, clean working suit, and carried a dinner pail. He suggested the wholesome, energetic worker from top to toe.
"I am holding on," he observed to Mort, stopping half-way up the ladder.
"Thought you was working at the roundhouse?" said Mort.
