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Photograph by Brown Brothers.
GOING DOWN TO WORK IN THE SAND BUCKET. MEN ARE SUPPOSED TO USE THE LADDER.
“Could we go down into one of the caissons, asked Will.
“Oh, no, that is entirely out of the question,” said Mr. Squires. Then, as he saw the disappointment in our faces, he explained: “There is n't anything to see down there, and it is pretty dirty work.”
“We don’t mind the dirt,’ I interrupted.
“Well, I don’t know,” said Mr. Squires, hesitating. “You say Dick Hotchkiss sent you to me? That settles it then, if you really want to go. Come on to the sand-hog house, and I Il see if I can rig you out in boots and oilskins. But hold on. When did you have breakfast? Eight o'clock? You did n’t have a very substantial meal, did you?”
We told him what constituted our usual morning fare.
“That ’s not enough,” he said. “Run over to that restaurant, and fill up with all you can eat.”
That seemed like an odd preliminary to our work. “It ’s like feeding the prisoners just before they are to be executed,” I remarked. “But,” Mr. Squires explained, “down there you will take in three times the usual amount of oxygen with every breath. Your ‘innards’ are going to work under forced draft, and so you