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Node.js, MongoDB and Angular Web
Development

Second Edition

Brad Dayley
Brendan Dayley
Caleb Dayley
Node.js, MongoDB and Angular Web Development, Second Edition
Copyright © 2018 by Pearson Education, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. No patent
liability is assumed with respect to the use of the information contained herein.
Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the
publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors or omissions. Nor is any
liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained
herein.

ISBN-13: 978-0-13-465553-6

ISBN-10: 0-13-465553-2

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017954802

Printed in the United States of America

1 17

Trademarks
All terms mentioned in this book that are known to be trademarks or service marks
have been appropriately capitalized. Pearson cannot attest to the accuracy of this
information. Use of a term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the
validity of any trademark or service mark.

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Every effort has been made to make this book as complete and as accurate as
possible, but no warranty or fitness is implied. The information provided is on an “as
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Editor
Mark Taber

Senior Project Editor

Tonya Simpson

Copy Editor
Geneil Breeze

Indexer
Erika Millen

Compositor
codeMantra

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Abigail Manheim

Technical Editor
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Contents at a Glance
Introduction

I: Getting Started
1 Introducing the Node.js-to-Angular Stack
2 JavaScript Primer

II: Learning Node.js

3 Getting Started with Node.js
4 Using Events, Listeners, Timers, and Callbacks in Node.js
5 Handling Data I/O in Node.js
6 Accessing the File System from Node.js
7 Implementing HTTP Services in Node.js
8 Implementing Socket Services in Node.js
9 Scaling Applications Using Multiple Processors in Node.js
10 Using Additional Node.js Modules

III: Learning MongoDB

11 Understanding NoSQL and MongoDB
12 Getting Started with MongoDB
13 Getting Started with MongoDB and Node.js
14 Manipulating MongoDB Documents from Node.js
15 Accessing MongoDB from Node.js
16 Using Mongoose for Structured Schema and Validation
 17 Advanced MongoDB Concepts

IV: Using Express to Make Life Easier

18 Implementing Express in Node.js
19 Implementing Express Middleware

V: Learning Angular
20 Jumping into TypeScript
21 Getting Started with Angular
22 Angular Components
23 Expressions
24 Data Binding
25 Built-in Directives

VI: Advanced Angular

26 Custom Directives
27 Events and Change Detection
28 Implementing Angular Services in Web Applications
29 Creating Your Own Custom Angular Services
30 Having Fun with Angular

Index
Contents
Introduction

I: Getting Started
1 Introducing the Node.js-to-Angular Stack
Understanding the Basic Web Development Framework
User
Browser
Webserver
Backend Services
Understanding the Node.js-to-Angular Stack Components
Node.js
MongoDB
Express
Angular
Summary
Next
2 JavaScript Primer
Defining Variables
Understanding JavaScript Data Types
Using Operators
Arithmetic Operators
Assignment Operators
Applying Comparison and Conditional Operators
Implementing Looping
while Loops
do/while Loops
for Loops
for/in Loops
Interrupting Loops
Creating Functions
Defining Functions
 Passing Variables to Functions
Returning Values from Functions
Using Anonymous Functions
Understanding Variable Scope
Using JavaScript Objects
Using Object Syntax
Creating Custom-Defined Objects
Using a Prototyping Object Pattern
Manipulating Strings
Combining Strings
Searching a String for a Substring
Replacing a Word in a String
Splitting a String into an Array
Working with Arrays
Combining Arrays
Iterating Through Arrays
Converting an Array into a String
Checking Whether an Array Contains an Item
Adding and Removing Items to Arrays
Adding Error Handling
try/catch Blocks
Throw Your Own Errors
Using finally
Summary
Next

II: Learning Node.js

3 Getting Started with Node.js
Understanding Node.js
Who Uses Node.js?
What Is Node.js Used For?
What Does Node.js Come With?
Installing Node.js
Looking at the Node.js Install Location
Verify Node.js Executables
Selecting a Node.js IDE
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 Working with Node Packages
What Are Node Packaged Modules?
Understanding the Node Package Registry
Using the Node Package Manager
Searching for Node Package Modules
Installing Node Packaged Modules
Using package.json
Creating a Node.js Application
Creating a Node.js Packaged Module
Publishing a Node.js Packaged Module to the NPM Registry
Using a Node.js Packaged Module in a Node.js Application
Writing Data to the Console
Summary
Next
4 Using Events, Listeners, Timers, and Callbacks in Node.js
Understanding the Node.js Event Model
Comparing Event Callbacks and Threaded Models
Blocking I/O in Node.js
The Conversation Example
Adding Work to the Event Queue
Implementing Timers
Using nextTick to Schedule Work
Implementing Event Emitters and Listeners
Implementing Callbacks
Passing Additional Parameters to Callbacks
Implementing Closure in Callbacks
Chaining Callbacks
Summary
Next
5 Handling Data I/O in Node.js
Working with JSON
Converting JSON to JavaScript Objects
Converting JavaScript Objects to JSON
Using the Buffer Module to Buffer Data
Understanding Buffered Data
 Creating Buffers
Writing to Buffers
Reading from Buffers
Determining Buffer Length
Copying Buffers
Slicing Buffers
Concatenating Buffers
Using the Stream Module to Stream Data
Readable Streams
Writable Streams
Duplex Streams
Transform Streams
Piping Readable Streams to Writable Streams
Compressing and Decompressing Data with Zlib
Compressing and Decompressing Buffers
Compressing/Decompressing Streams
Summary
Next
6 Accessing the File System from Node.js
Synchronous Versus Asynchronous File System Calls
Opening and Closing Files
Writing Files
Simple File Write
Synchronous File Writing
Asynchronous File Writing
Streaming File Writing
Reading Files
Simple File Read
Synchronous File Reading
Asynchronous File Reading
Streaming File Reading
Other File System Tasks
Verifying Path Existence
Getting File Info
Listing Files
Deleting Files
 Truncating Files
Making and Removing Directories
Renaming Files and Directories
Watching for File Changes
Summary
Next
7 Implementing HTTP Services in Node.js
Processing URLs
Understanding the URL Object
Resolving the URL Components
Processing Query Strings and Form Parameters
Understanding Request, Response, and Server Objects
The http.ClientRequest Object
The http.ServerResponse Object
The http.IncomingMessage Object
The http.Server Object
Implementing HTTP Clients and Servers in Node.js
Serving Static Files
Implementing Dynamic GET Servers
Implementing POST Servers
Interacting with External Sources
Implementing HTTPS Servers and Clients
Creating an HTTPS Client
Creating an HTTPS Server
Summary
Next
8 Implementing Socket Services in Node.js
Understanding Network Sockets
Understanding TPC Server and Socket Objects
The net.Socket Object
The net.Server Object
Implementing TCP Socket Servers and Clients
Implementing a TCP Socket Client
Implementing a TCP Socket Server
Implementing TLS Servers and Clients
 Creating a TLS Socket Client
Creating a TLS Socket Server
Summary
Next
9 Scaling Applications Using Multiple Processors in Node.js
Understanding the Process Module
Understanding Process I/O Pipes
Understanding Process Signals
Controlling Process Execution with the process Module
Getting Information from the process Module
Implementing Child Processes
Understanding the ChildProcess Object
Executing a System Command on Another Process Using exec()
Executing an Executable File on Another Process Using execFile()
Spawning a Process in Another Node.js Instance Using spawn()
Implementing Child Forks
Implementing Process Clusters
Using the Cluster Module
Understanding the Worker Object
Implementing an HTTP Cluster
Summary
Next
10 Using Additional Node.js Modules
Using the os Module
Using the util Module
Formatting Strings
Checking Object Types
Converting JavaScript Objects to Strings
Inheriting Functionality from Other Objects
Using the dns Module
Using the crypto Module
Other Node Modules and Objects
Summary
Next
III: Learning MongoDB
11 Understanding NoSQL and MongoDB
Why NoSQL?
Understanding MongoDB
Understanding Collections
Understanding Documents
MongoDB Data Types
Planning Your Data Model
Normalizing Data with Document References
Denormalizing Data with Embedded Documents
Using Capped Collections
Understanding Atomic Write Operations
Considering Document Growth
Identifying Indexing, Sharding, and Replication Opportunities
Large Collections Versus Large Numbers of Collections
Deciding on Data Life Cycles
Considering Data Usability and Performance
Summary
Next
12 Getting Started with MongoDB
Building the MongoDB Environment
Installing MongoDB
Starting MongoDB
Stopping MongoDB
Accessing MongoDB from the Shell Client
Administering User Accounts
Listing Users
Creating User Accounts
Removing Users
Configuring Access Control
Creating a User Administrator Account
Turning on Authentication
Creating a Database Administrator Account
Administering Databases
Displaying a List of Databases
 Changing the Current Database
Creating Databases
Deleting Databases
Copying Databases
Managing Collections
Displaying a List of Collections in a Database
Creating Collections
Deleting Collections
Finding Documents in a Collection
Adding Documents to a Collection
Deleting Documents in a Collection
Updating Documents in a Collection
Summary
Next
13 Getting Started with MongoDB and Node.js
Adding the MongoDB Driver to Node.js
Connecting to MongoDB from Node.js
Understanding the Write Concern
Connecting to MongoDB from Node.js Using the MongoClient Object
Understanding the Objects Used in the MongoDB Node.js Driver
Understanding the Db Object
Understanding the Admin Object
Understanding the Collection Object
Understanding the Cursor Object
Accessing and Manipulating Databases
Listing Databases
Creating a Database
Deleting a Database
Creating, Listing, and Deleting Databases Example
Getting the Status of the MongoDB Server
Accessing and Manipulating Collections
Listing Collections
Creating Collections
Deleting Collections
Collection Creation, Listing, and Deleting Example
Getting Collection Information
 Summary
Next
14 Manipulating MongoDB Documents from Node.js
Understanding Database Change Options
Understanding Database Update Operators
Adding Documents to a Collection
Getting Documents from a Collection
Updating Documents in a Collection
Atomically Modifying Documents in a Collection
Saving Documents in a Collection
Upserting Documents in Collection
Deleting Documents from a Collection
Removing a Single Document from a Collection
Summary
Next
15 Accessing MongoDB from Node.js
Introducing the Data Set
Understanding Query Objects
Understanding Query Options Objects
Finding Specific Sets of Documents
Counting Documents
Limiting Result Sets
Limiting Results by Size
Limiting Fields Returned in Objects
Paging Results
Sorting Result Sets
Finding Distinct Field Values
Grouping Results
Applying MapReduce by Aggregating Results
Understanding the aggregate() Method
Using Aggregation Framework Operators
Implementing Aggregation Expression Operators
Aggregation Examples
Summary
Next
16 Using Mongoose for Structured Schema and Validation
Understanding Mongoose
Additional Objects
Connecting to a MongoDB Database Using Mongoose
Defining a Schema
Understanding Paths
Creating a Schema Definition
Adding Indexes to a Schema
Implementing Unique Fields
Forcing Required Fields
Adding Methods to the Schema Model
Implementing the Schema on the Words Database
Compiling a Model
Understanding the Query Object
Setting the Query Database Operation
Setting the Query Database Operation Options
Setting the Query Operators
Understanding the Document Object
Finding Documents Using Mongoose
Adding Documents Using Mongoose
Updating Documents Using Mongoose
Saving Document Changes
Updating a Single Document
Updating Multiple Documents
Removing Documents Using Mongoose
Removing a Single Document
Removing Multiple Documents
Aggregating Documents Using Mongoose
Using the Validation Framework
Implementing Middleware Functions
Summary
Next
17 Advanced MongoDB Concepts
Adding Indexes
Using Capped Collections
Applying Replication
 Replication Strategy
Deploying a Replica Set
Implementing Sharding
Sharding Server Types
Choosing a Shard Key
Selecting a Partitioning Method
Deploying a Sharded MongoDB Cluster
Repairing a MongoDB Database
Backing Up MongoDB
Summary
Next

IV: Using Express to Make Life Easier

18 Implementing Express in Node.js
Getting Started with Express
Configuring Express Settings
Starting the Express Server
Configuring Routes
Implementing Routes
Applying Parameters in Routes
Using Requests Objects
Using Response Objects
Setting Headers
Setting the Status
Sending Response
Sending JSON Responses
Sending Files
Sending a Download Response
Redirecting the Response
Implementing a Template Engine
Defining the Engine
Adding Locals
Creating Templates
Rendering Templates in a Response
Summary
Next
 19 Implementing Express Middleware
Understanding Middleware
Assigning Middleware Globally to a Path
Assigning Middleware to a Single Route
Adding Multiple Middleware Functions
Using the query Middleware
Serving Static Files
Handling POST Body Data
Sending and Receiving Cookies
Implementing Sessions
Applying Basic HTTP Authentication
Implementing Session Authentication
Creating Custom Middleware
Summary
Next

V: Learning Angular
20 Jumping into TypeScript
Learning the Different Types
Understanding Interfaces
Implementing Classes
Class Inheritance
Implementing Modules
Understanding Functions
Summary
Next
21 Getting Started with Angular
Why Angular?
Understanding Angular
Modules
Directives
Data Binding
Dependency Injection
Services
Separation of Responsibilities
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 Adding Angular to Your Environment
Using the Angular CLI
Generating Content with the CLI
Creating a Basic Angular Application
Creating Your First Angular App
Understanding and Using NgModule
Creating the Angular Bootstrapper
Summary
Next
22 Angular Components
Component Configuration
Defining a Selector
Building a Template
Using Inline CSS and HTML in Angular Applications
Using Constructors
Using External Templates
Injecting Directives
Building a Nested Component with Dependency Injection
Passing in Data with Dependency Injection
Creating an Angular Application that Uses Inputs
Summary
Next
23 Expressions
Using Expressions
Using Basic Expressions
Interacting with the Component Class in Expressions
Using TypeScript in Angular Expressions
Using Pipes
Using Built-in Pipes
Building a Custom Pipe
Creating a Custom Pipe
Summary
Next
24 Data Binding
Understanding Data Binding
 Interpolation
Property Binding
Attribute Binding
Class Binding
Style Binding
Event Binding
Two-Way Binding
Summary
Next
25 Built-in Directives
Understanding Directives
Using Built-in Directives
Components Directives
Structural Directives
Attribute Directives
Summary
Next

VI: Advanced Angular

26 Custom Directives
Creating a Custom Attribute Directive
Creating a Custom Directive with a Component
Summary
Next
27 Events and Change Detection
Using Browser Events
Emitting Custom Events
Emitting a Custom Event to the Parent Component Hierarchy
Handling Custom Events with a Listener
Implementing Custom Events in Nested Components
Deleting Data in a Parent Component from a Child Component
Using Observables
Creating an Observable Object
Watching for Data Changes with Observables
Summary
 Next
28 Implementing Angular Services in Web Applications
Understanding Angular Services
Using the Built-in Services
Sending HTTP GET and PUT Requests with the http Service
Configuring the HTTP Request
Implementing the HTTP Response Callback Functions
Implementing a Simple JSON File and Using the http Service to Access It
Implementing a Simple Mock Server Using the http Service
Implementing a Simple Mock Server and Using the http Service to Update
Items on the Server
Changing Views with the router Service
Using routes in Angular
Implementing a Simple Router
Implementing a Router with a Navigation Bar
Implementing a Router with Parameters
Summary
Next
29 Creating Your Own Custom Angular Services
Integrating Custom Services into Angular Applications
Adding an Angular Service to an Application
Implementing a Simple Application that Uses a Constant Data Service
Implementing a Data Transform Service
Implementing a Variable Data Service
Implementing a Service that Returns a Promise
Implementing a Shared Service
Summary
Next
30 Having Fun with Angular
Implementing an Angular Application that Uses the Animation Service
Implementing an Angular Application that Zooms in on Images
Implementing an Angular Application that Enables Drag and Drop
Implementing a Star Rating Angular Component
Summary
Index
About the Authors
Brad Dayley is a senior software engineer with more than 20 years of experience
developing enterprise applications and web interfaces. He has used JavaScript and
jQuery for years and is the author of Learning Angular, jQuery and JavaScript
Phrasebook and Sams Teach Yourself AngularJS, JavaScript, and jQuery All in One.
He has designed and implemented a wide array of applications and services, from
application servers to complex web applications.

Brendan Dayley is a web application developer who loves learning and

implementing the latest and greatest technologies. He is the co-author of Learning
Angular and Sams Teach Yourself AngularJS, JavaScript, and jQuery All in One. He
has written a number of web applications using JavaScript, TypeScript, and Angular,
and he is exploring the capabilities of new web and mobile technologies such as
augmented reality and how to use them for innovative solutions.

Caleb Dayley is a university student studying computer science. He tries to learn all
that he can and has taught himself much of what he knows about programming. He
has taught himself several languages, including JavaScript, C#, and, using the first
edition of this book, NodeJS, MongoDB and Angular. He is excited for what the
future holds, and the opportunities to help design and create the next generation of
innovative software that will continue to improve the way we live, work, and play.
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 A girl gave her a sympathetic glance and touched her companion.
He was a rather handsome young fellow and he stopped in front of
Kit. Kit, sitting on his bag, leaned against Alison’s bench, and her
dress touched his clothes.
“You’re from the Old Country? Waiting for the west-bound?” the
Canadian inquired in a friendly voice.
“That is so,” said Kit. “Do you know anything about the trains? So
far as we can find out, the railroad men do not.”
The other laughed. “In the West you don’t bother the railroad
gang. They don’t like it. You buy your ticket and wait until they think
you ought to start. However, the yard loco’s moving some cars, and I
expect the Vancouver express will soon pull out. Well, I reckon
you’re going the proper way. On the plains we’ll cut a record crop
and trade will boom. If you’re willing to hustle, you’ll make good.
Will you take a cigarette?”
He gave Kit a package, and the girl gave Alison a bag of fruit.
When they went off Alison’s eyes twinkled, but Kit thought her color
rather high.
“They’re good sorts,” he remarked. “Husband and wife?”
“Not yet,” said Alison, as if she knew. “They are going to be
married; I think they fixed it, not long since, at Winnipeg Beach. The
girl’s kind, and because she’s happy she wanted to sympathize.”
She turned her head and Kit saw a light. Perhaps the others
thinking them man and wife was not remarkable, and he began to
muse. Although the Winnipeg girls were attractive, none had a
charm like Alison’s. Their walk and carriage indicated that they knew
their power to attract, but Alison’s charm was unconscious. Kit liked
her level glance, her touch of quiet humor and her independence.
When she was gone he would be lonely. Since he was not a romantic
sentimentalist, there was the puzzle.
Alison knew he was Evelyn’s lover, and although now he thought
about it, she had some physical charm, her beauty did not move
him. In fact, he was not attracted because she was a girl; sex had
nothing to do with it. Perhaps her trusting him accounted for much.
One liked to be trusted and one liked people one helped; but Kit
doubted if it accounted for all. Anyhow, he did not want to let her
go. Alison was quiet, and he lighted a cigarette from the Canadian’s
package.
At length, a bell rang and a long train rolled into the station.
Alison got up, as if she braced herself, and Kit seized her bag. He
told her to hold his arm and they were carried to the door by a
jostling crowd. On the platform the crowd stopped and surged
tumultuously about. Tall iron rails enclosed the space and a group of
muscular railroad men kept the gate. Kit supposed they wanted to
examine the tickets, since another train started soon.
The emigrants, however, had waited long, and now they saw the
train they meant to get on board. A number knew no English. On
board ship and at the stations strangers drove them about and
penned them up like cattle. It looked as if they had had enough and
their dull resignation vanished. They growled sullenly, and Kit
thought “growl” was the proper word, for the noise carried a hint of
animal savageness. When the shipyard gates stopped a strikers’
march, Kit had heard the ominous note before.
“Give me your ticket,” he said to Alison. “I’ll see you on the cars.”
“But the railway people will turn you back.”
“I think not; if they try, they’re fools,” said Kit. “This crowd’s going
through.”
For a few minutes the railroad men struggled to hold the jostling
passengers, and then one shut the ponderous gate. The mob
howled and rolled ahead, and the group was flung against the rails.
A whistle pierced the turmoil; porters and train-hands ran to help,
but the emigrants’ blood was fired and they raged behind the barrier.
A few, perhaps, were fanatic anarchists; others had borne
oppression and stern military rule. Now authority again blocked their
road they meant to fight.
The rails were high, but men getting on others’ backs began to
climb across. Then somebody reopened the gate and a fresh guard
tried to hold the gap. Kit liked the fellows’ pluck, but he thought
them foolish. Anyhow, they were not going to stop him. Alison must
get her train.
 Clutching the bag, he steered her into the press. He stumbled
against luggage the emigrants dropped and doubted if Alison kept
her feet, but she stuck to him and they got nearer the gate. In front
he saw heaving shoulders and bent backs. The men’s arms were
jambed; it was like a Rugby scrimmage. Women screamed, and one,
jerking up her hand, struck Kit’s face. He did not know if he jostled
her, but in the turmoil he must go where the others went. People
strained and gasped and fought. Jambed tight, they pushed for the
barrier; and then the thick rails crashed.
The crowd spilled out across the platform as a flood leaps a
broken dam, and Kit, plunging forward, had room to choose his line.
The emigrants meant to get on board as soon as possible and they
swarmed about the cars nearest the broken rails. Kit saw a better
plan.
“Come on!” he shouted, and started for the front of the long train.
After a minute or two he stopped at a second-class car. Behind
him others ran along the line and he pushed Alison up the steps. A
colored porter came from the vestibule.
“Have you got a sleeper berth?” Kit asked.
“The conductor’ll fix you all right,” said the porter. “Where’s your
grip?”
Kit gave him the bag, and when the fellow went off turned and
looked about. The group he had remarked steered for the vestibule.
“We mustn’t block the steps, and you ought to get your place,” he
said.
Alison on the top step hesitated, and then put her hand on his
shoulder.
“Good-bye! Thank you for all, Kit,” she said and turned her head.
Kit kissed her and jumped back. The crowd had reached the car
and people pushed him from the steps. For a moment Alison leaned
over the rail and he waved his cap.
“Cheerio! Look in front!” he shouted, and Alison smiled and
vanished.
Two or three minutes afterwards the cars jolted and smoke and
cinders blew about. Lights rolled by and melted, the locomotive bell
stopped and the train was gone. Kit went back to the waiting hall,
but he did not steer for the bench Alison had occupied. Sitting down
across the floor, he moodily lighted his pipe.
 CHAPTER XII
KIT PLAYS FOR HIS SUPPER
In the morning Kit’s train stopped at a prairie station and he went
along the line to the baggage car. The door rolled back, and when
he jumped on the step a sack plunged out and rolled down the
bank. Then a box crashed on the ballast, and since Kit did not want
to be knocked off he moved along the step. Inside the car a
muscular fellow pulled down a pile of baggage and another waited
to throw out the stuff. Although Kit beckoned, the men did not stop.
“Have you got a small brown steamer trunk?” he inquired.
“We have not,” said one. “Get out of the light!”
“The trunk was loaded up at Montreal——”
The baggage man gave an order to his mate, and they dragged a
box to the door and pushed it from the ledge. In order to avoid a
collision Kit jumped down and when he climbed back his face was
red.
“Where is my trunk?”
“Search me! You’re a sticker all right,” the railroad man remarked
and threw a bag as if he aimed at Kit.
Kit thought the next bag might hit him, and he got down. A man
from the office pushed past and, refusing to stop, climbed on board
the car. When the train started he gave Kit a careless glance.
“Are you wanting something?”
“I want my trunk. At Montreal your baggage clerk said I’d get it
when I arrived.”
“Sure!” remarked the agent. “Those fellows do talk like that; it’s in
the company’s folders. Have you got a check.”
Kit pulled out a check he got at Montreal.
 “Well,” said the agent, “your trunk’s not on the train. She may
come along in the morning and she may be a week. Depends on
your luck.”
He went off and shut his office. Nobody came for the baggage
and Kit sat down on the broken box. The cars had begun to melt
into the plain and the smoke that rolled across the grass got faint.
Fifty yards off a small frame hotel faced the track. The next building
was a grocery, and then six or seven little shiplap houses bordered
the wagon trail. There was no pavement, and the black soil was torn
by wheels, but a few planks went along the front of the houses. By
the hotel, two light wagons and a battered car were in the grass,
and on the veranda a man smoked his pipe. Harper’s Bar was
obviously a tranquil spot.
Although the settlement had not much charm, the background
pleased Kit. The prairie was not the monotonous flat he had
pictured. The plain rolled, and the grass was dotted by tall red
flowers like lilies. Ponds shone in the hollows, poplar bluffs
checkered the rises, and at one spot yellow sandhills reflected the
sun. A belt of trees, marking a river, curved about a shallow valley,
and in the distance the green and ocher of the grass melted into
ethereal blue.
The landscape was not like an English landscape, for the colors
were vivid and the outlines sharp. Although the sun was hot, a keen
wind rolled white clouds across the sky, and Kit got a sense of
spaciousness and freedom. For one thing, he saw no fences. Only a
skeleton windmill and a wooden homestead, a mile or two off,
indicated that the prairie was not a wilderness.
Kit pulled out his wallet. In England he had reckoned by shillings,
and now he had begun to reckon by dollars; his wad of paper money
was ominously thin. All the same, his last meal was the supper
Alison cooked on board the cars, and he glanced at the hotel. On the
whole he thought he would try the grocery and he crossed the track.
Although the skeleton door was covered by a mosquito net, flies
swarmed about the grocery. Dead flies stuck to the paper traps and
dotted the dusty floor. The room was very hot and Kit sat down on a
barrel. After he had knocked for some time, a man came in. The
storekeeper had no coat and his white shirt was crumpled and
soiled.
“I was hoeing up my potato hills,” he said. “The boys expect me
to sit around and be sociable evenings.”
“Can you sell me something to eat?” Kit inquired.
“Crackers?” suggested the other. “Maybe some cheese? I might
give you butter, but you’d want to use a can.”
Kit bought cheese and crackers; and then asked: “How far is the
new bridge?”
“Eight miles. Sometimes a supply train stops at the station tank,
but if you want to ride, your plan’s to hire Cassidy’s flivver. I reckon
he’d take you out for three or four dollars.”
“It looks as if I’d have to walk,” said Kit. “Which way do you go?”
The storekeeper told him and resumed: “You talk like you was
from the Old Country. Are you looking for a job?”
Kit said it was so and the other smiled.
“I was raised in England; the orphanage shipped me out and a
whiles since they put a picture of my store in their little book. Two
fellows loading a wagon at the steps and a big freight train on the
track in front! Thomas Lightfoot, merchant. Another —— boy does
well in Canada, printed at the top. I don’t grumble, but if the boys
would pay their bills, I might do better. Well, the sun is pretty fierce
and maybe you’ll take a drink.”
He went off and came back carrying two glasses of pale green
liquor in which ice floated.
“Good luck!” he said. “I’m a lawful citizen; the stuff’s soft all
right.”
“Thank you! You’re a first-class sort,” said Kit, and drained his
glass, for the lemonade was cold and good.
“If the bridge bosses turn you down, you might go on to Jardine,
where the boys are putting up a tank,” Lightfoot resumed, and
looking about his shelves, gave Kit a small can of fruit. “Another on
me! I reckon it will help your lunch.”
 Kit thanked him and started for the bridge. The storekeeper’s
kindness was encouraging, because he had begun to feel that
Canada was a foreign country. He did not know if the Canadians
were antagonistic, but they were not polite. Kit thought the baggage
man’s ordering him to get out was typical, but in a sense perhaps it
was logical. The fellow did not have his trunk and there was no use
in talking. Kit smiled and looked in front.
The trail went up a gentle slope, and where the wheels had torn
the sod the black soil reflected the light as if the stuff was greasy.
The wheel-marks were not straight; they curved about clumps of
brush and sloos where the grass was high. Near the top, a farmer
turned the clods in the summer fallow and dust rolled like smoke
about indistinct horses and sparkling steel.
By and by the soil got lighter and the grass was rather gray than
green. The black stuff was the gumbo in which the wheat plant
thrives, but it looked as if the fertile belt followed the river, and on
the high ground the wheels plowed up sandy gravel. Although Kit
had thought to see homesteads, and fields of wheat rolling in the
wind, Manitoba was yet marked by spaces cultivation had not
touched.
After a time he sat down in the grass by a sparkling pond. Behind
the pond was a poplar bluff, and cool shadows trembled on the
grass. Kit, pulling out the cheese and crackers, began his lunch. His
violin was all he carried, he did not know when he would get his
trunk, and his money was nearly gone. Then it was possible the
bridge engineers would have no use for him. Perhaps he had some
grounds to be anxious, but he was not.
The wind and the sunshine banished moody thought. The sky was
blue and to look across the spacious plain was bracing. One saw it
melt in the distance, and the distance called. If he did not get a job,
he must fiddle for his supper, and in the morning he would push on
again. Sometimes in England he had pictured humorously a
minstrel’s life, and now it looked as if the life might be his.
A gopher stole from the grass and plunged into a hole. A flock of
birds flew along the edge of the bluff. They were like English
blackbirds, but their wings were marked by golden bars. Splendid
red lilies dotted the plain, the tossing branches made a soothing
noise and the wind blew away the flies.
Kit opened the fruit can. He had meant to be frugal, but he was
hungry, and the acid currants helped the cheese and crackers. When
he had satisfied his appetite all was gone and he lighted his pipe. He
was not bothered by luggage and when one travelled light one went
farthest. To start with a fiddle and two or three small bills was
something of an adventure. Lying in the grass he smoked and
mused.
He pictured Evelyn under the big oaks at Netherhall. Her white
dress cut the shadows and her voice harmonized with the river’s
languid splash. She was serene and graceful, and she carried herself
proudly. One felt the sweep of smooth grass, the flower borders, and
the dignified old house were proper. To see her at the tarn was
harder, and the picture got indistinct. On the bleak moor Evelyn was
somehow exotic, and Kit admitted he could not see her on board the
emigrant ship. When he thought about it, he smiled. To picture
Evelyn’s singing in the third-class saloon was ridiculous.
Kit let it go and pondered tranquilly. On the whole, he thought
temperament rather than circumstances accounted for one’s
adventures. In a sense he was not forced to start for Canada; were
he another he might have taken another line. He was resting by the
Manitoba bluff because he was Christopher Carson and had inherited
qualities that persuaded him to go; he did not see Evelyn in the
third-class saloon because she was Evelyn. Anyhow, it was
something like that, but he was not a philosopher, and he began to
muse about Alison.
Although he knew her fastidious, when she cooked supper on the
train and occupied the bench at Winnipeg station, her surroundings
did not jar. One felt shabbiness and dreariness vanished when she
was about. It looked as if she had power to transmute the ugly
things she touched to something fine. Kit wondered whether he was
romantic, but he did not think he exaggerated much.
 Yet Alison, so to speak, was not at all remarkable, and when one
speculated where her charm was one did not know. All the same,
she had charm; perhaps it was her frank, thoughtful look, her
obvious sincerity. Kit saw her, tired and forlorn but smiling, on the
bench at the marble waiting-hall; and the emigrants lying drearily
about the flags. Then the train rolled into the station and the passion
of the crowd was roused. Alison clung to him and they fought to
reach the gate. The rails went down, they sped across the platform
and he pushed her up the steps.
Perhaps it was strange, but Kit did not remember all he said.
Something about bracing up and looking in front. Well, he was a
fool, for now he thought about it, Alison had braced him. Anyhow,
he kissed her and the cars began to roll ahead. He wanted to jump
on board, but the train went faster and the lights got faint.... The
dim reflections melted ... and Kit was asleep.
When he looked up, the shadows had moved across the grass and
he pulled out his watch. If he wanted to reach the bridge for supper,
he must start, and picking up his violin case, he set off. The trail
dipped to hollows where the grass was tall, and curved round shady
bluffs. Gophers ran about, and a flock of prairie chickens sprang
noisily from the brush. Sometimes Kit saw a homestead and a belt of
dark green wheat; sometimes he labored across sandhills where
stable litter bound the road. In front the wheel-marks went across
the horizon.
At length a belt of trees began to get distinct and Kit saw smoke.
The smoke trailed far across the grass, and when he got nearer, was
pierced by a shining plume of steam. Hammers beat like chiming
bells, and he heard the musical clash of steel. Kit unconsciously went
faster. Where men hammered iron was the place for him.
After a time he reached a gap in the trees. The railroad pierced
the wood, and on one side the birches and poplars were chopped
back. The trunks lay beside a forking row of rails and Kit smelt sappy
wood and withering leaves. Following the branch track, he stopped
at a river. Log shacks, tents, and two or three iron shanties occupied
the high clay bank, and a wooden bridge carried the line across. A
hundred yards off, clusters of iron columns, strongly braced, broke
the muddy current. Steel girders and a network of tie-rods and
wooden platforms joined the columns to the bank.
Work had stopped and brown-skinned men swarmed about the tin
basins on the benches in front of the bunk-house. The men’s shirts
and brown overalls were stained by grease and clay. Kit thought
them an athletic lot, and he stopped one.
“Is your boss about?” he inquired.
“He’s not,” said the other and started for the washing bench.
Kit got in front of the fellow. “When will the boss arrive? I’m
looking for a job.”
“I sure don’t know. You might see the foreman. He’s by the
shack.”
Kit steered for the spot, and the foreman looked at him
thoughtfully.
“Are you a blacksmith?”
“I am not, but I can use a forge hammer and sharpen tools.”
“We want a blacksmith,” remarked the foreman, and began to
move away.
“Can’t you give me a job of some sort?”
“Nothing doing; we’re full up. You might try the tank at Jardine.
It’s ten miles west,” said the foreman and went off.
Kit frowned. In twenty-four hours all he had eaten was a small
can of fruit and some crackers and cheese. He was young and his
appetite was good; he did not see himself walking to Jardine and
waiting for breakfast. Besides, he might not get breakfast. Then he
began to smile. After all, he might earn his supper by fiddling, and
he tuned his violin.
In two or three minutes a crowd of muscular workmen
surrounded the spot. Kit played Mendelssohn’s “Wings of Song,” but
he felt calm and stately music did not go, and since he did not know
much ragtime, he experimented with Scottish airs. A ranting,
clanging reel captured his audience, and Kit knew he was on the
proper track, for he saw long boots beat the ground and brown
hands mark the time. He tried a Strathspey, but Strathspeys are
awkward music, unless one is a Scot, and he began a Highland
chieftain’s march. Then a man came from the bunk-house and
looked about.
“Wha’s playing?” he inquired.
The others indicated Kit, and the man signed him to advance.
“Yon reel was not bad; ye got the lilt and swing o’t,” he remarked.
“Ye cannot play a Strathspey; I dinna ken about the march. In a
dance tune a fiddle’s heartsome, but for real music ye need the
pipes.”
“A fiddle has some limitations,” Kit agreed in a sober voice. “Its
line is melody. Where you want volume, perhaps an organ——”
“An organ canna’ beat the pipes,” the other rejoined, and the
workmen began to laugh.
“We like you, Jock, but we want our supper,” said one. “Quit
talking and set up the hash.”
The cook did not turn his head; he studied Kit.
“Ye’ll not have got supper yet?”
Kit said he had not, and the cook pointed to the bunk-house door.
“Ye ken something about music. Come away in.”
“Speed up! We want supper,” shouted the workmen, and the cook
and Kit started for the shack in front of a noisy mob.
 CHAPTER XIII
THE COOK’S MUSICIAN
Kit did not know where he would get breakfast, and he indulged
his appetite. The food was good and all that bothered him was he
could not copy the workmen’s speed. Bacon, fried potatoes, beans
and slabs of pie vanished; the men drained cans of tea and shouted
for fresh supplies. They were muscular fellows. Although they were
Western, Kit thought their type simpler, and, in a way, more primitive
than the mechanics he had known. The shipyard workers were
sportsmen, politicians, and sometimes philosophers. At the engine
shops one heard much about racing, football and social economics.
It looked as if the Canadians concentrated on their occupation, and
now they frankly concentrated on their supper. In fact, Kit felt the
rude feast was marked by something of a Homeric touch.
The men’s clothes were thin, and one saw their bodies were
molded on classical lines; sometimes an unconscious pose was
statuesque. Then one got a hint of careless, optimistic confidence.
The bridge gang obviously did not bother; they labored, fought, and
trusted their luck. Kit felt the gang and the bunk-house harmonized.
The piles of food, rusty stove, and battered tin lamps were properly
in the picture. All was rude and vigorous, and had nothing to do with
modern cultivation.
Before Kit was altogether satisfied the men were gone, and the
cook began to carry off the plates. Kit helped and afterwards they
lighted their pipes.
“If ye’ll get your fiddle, I’ll let ye see how yon march should go,”
the cook said by and by.
Kit played a few bars; and then the other, drumming on the table,
marked the puzzling rhythm.
 “I think I see,” said Kit. “It’s a linked note trick; you drive the last
quaver across the bar. Let’s try——”
“Noo ye have got it,” the cook approved. “If ye could stop for a
week, I’d show ye how a Strathspey is played. Highland music is no’
like ither music.”
“Five beats to a bar are awkward,” Kit agreed. “Anyhow, I can’t
stop for a week. In fact, since your foreman has no use for me I
ought to shove off.”
“Ye’ll get breakfast before ye tak’ the road. Do ye waken early?”
Kit said when he was at the shipyard he was forced to get up
soon, and the cook nodded.
“Then, if ye’ll light the stove in the morning and play yon march,
ye might bide until the boss comes back. We do not expect him for
two, three days. I reckon ye’d help me chop wood and cut
potatoes?”
Kit was willing. He liked the cook and it was not important that
the hospitality the fellow offered was the company’s.
“Thank you,” he said. “But why do you want me to play the
march?”
The other told him. Long since, when he was a herd boy, a
Highland gentleman occupied a shooting lodge near the Scottish
village, and in the morning his piper played on the terrace. Kit had
not thought the Scots romantically sentimental, and he remarked the
cook’s apologetic smile. The fellow admitted that he himself played
the pipes.
“To hear the music in the fresh morning was fine,” he said. “I was
away early with the dogs when a’ was quiet and only the sheep were
moving on the moor. Maybe ye’d hear a cock-grouse crow, and then
the pipes began. Weel, I was a raw herd laddie and I thought, if I
got rich, my piper would waken me with music like yon. Ye see, the
march is famous; I’m thinking the Prince’s pipers played it on the
road to Derby....”
He knocked out his pipe, smiled, and resumed:
“It’s lang syne and I’m no yet rich. To the moor where the sheep
fed is a far cry, but when ye began yon march I saw the mist roll up
the brae and I thought the grouse were calling. Weel, until the boss
comes back I’ve got my piper, and I’ll lie until ye play for me the
morn. In the meantime I must make the coffee and slice the
breakfast pork.”
He went to his store, and Kit went to a bench in front of the
shack. In the distance the prairie was blue; the sky was saffron and
red. By the river bank dark trees cut the sunset, and fading
reflections touched the stream. The camp was quiet but hammers
rang along the bridge, and after a time a pillar of fire leaped up. For
a few moments the flame was smoky, and then the light got clear
and Kit knew somebody adjusted the blast-lamp’s valves.
Braced columns and steel lattice shone like silver, and on the high
platforms workmen’s figures, in black silhouette, cut the strong
illumination. Grass and leaves sparkled as if touched by frost, and a
glittering flood broke against the piers. The sunset’s reflections
vanished, and where the bright beam did not reach all was dark.
The hammers beat faster and small pale flames marked the rivet
forges. Kit saw red specks move along the bridge and sparks fly, and
he ruminated humorously. His fiddle had earned his supper, and for
two or three days he could reckon on his food and a bunk-house
bed; but he was not ambitious to be a cook’s musician. His job was
at the bridge. Well, there was no use in brooding, and his first post
in Canada was rather a joke. By and by he returned to the bunk-
house and was soon asleep.
Not long after daybreak he got down from his bunk and stole
across the floor. The bridge gang slept noisily, and to waken the men
before the usual time might be rash. To light the stove was perhaps
not a minstrel’s job, but he had undertaken to do so, and since it
was his first experiment, he had got up early.
The stove was in a lean-to shed and did not bother Kit. The
poplar billets snapped behind the bars and the iron got red. He liked
the smell of the wood, the morning was fresh, and the warmth was
soothing. Pulling out his watch, he saw he did not waken the cook
for some time, and he made coffee and found a slab of pie. When
he had drained the can and the pie was gone, he lighted his pipe.
After all, to help the cook had some advantages.
At length, he got up and tuned his fiddle by the track. Mist floated
about the river and dew sparkled on the grass. All was fresh and
bracing, and Kit’s mood was buoyant. He put the fiddle to his
shoulder and a joyous reveille roused the sleeping gangs. Then for a
few moments Kit stopped. Sometimes at camps he had known
reveille was not joyous, and he pictured tight-mouthed men
strapping up packs and ground-sheets and taking the muddy road.
The road faced the rising sun, but it had carried Kit’s pals West.
Well, it was done with and one must look ahead. Kit was the
cook’s piper, and he pulled the bow across the lower strings. He
thought the pipes began on under tones; and then he leaped an
octave to the ranting tune. The music was not great music, but it
fired the blood and moved one’s feet. Kit was not playing for critics;
he called muscular men to work. Perhaps the chords were like the
pipes, but no pipes could give the clear ringing notes one got from
the high strings. If the cook had imagination, he would hear the
broadswords rattle and the clansmen’s feet. The Highlanders
marched for Derby to a tune like that.
The music carried far and men came from the house and tents,
splashed at the wash bench, and waved to Kit.
“Some tune, stranger! Hit her up!”
By and by the foreman walked along the line.
“I reckoned you had quit!”
Kit said the cook had stated he might stay for a day or two, and
the other nodded.
“Well, you can play mornings and evenings. If I hear the fiddle
after the boys get busy, I’ll put you off the camp.”
It looked as if the cook were important, but somebody beat a
suspended iron bar and the men started for the house. Kit went with
the others and the cook pushed a big coffee can into his hands.
“Hustle round the table and keep the boys supplied. When all’s
gone ye’ll get a fresh lot in the shack.”
 Kit saw he must earn his breakfast. In Canada, a minstrel was
evidently not an honored guest, but he must not grumble, and he
ran about with the can. When the men went off, the cook gave him
a heaped plate and he noticed that the bacon was thin and crisp and
the sliced potatoes were golden brown. Kit imagined the gang did
not get the best.
After breakfast they cleaned the plates, and then Kit chopped
wood and carried water. In the afternoon he pulled down and
mended the smoking stove pipe, and when dusk fell he admitted
that to help the cook was not the joke he thought.
A day or two afterwards he carried a tub of potatoes to a shady
spot under the trees, and sitting down in the chopped branches,
sharpened his knife on his boot. The bridge gang was not fastidious,
and the knife was dull. His clothes were greasy and his skin was not
clean, for he had recently scraped the stove flues, and the soap was
not very good. Then he had burned his hand and to play the fiddle
hurt, but in the morning he must play the Highland chieftain’s
march. The march began to get monotonous, and on the whole Kit
thought when the construction boss returned and sent him off he
would be resigned to go.
By and by he heard steps and looked up. Gordon, whose children
he had amused on board the cars, stopped in front of the potato
tub. He threw down the pack he carried, and when he studied Kit his
eyes twinkled.
“You made it! A fellow at the settlement reckoned I’d find you at
the bridge.”
“I arrived two or three days ago, but I’m not staying long.”
“Don’t you like your job?”
“The trouble is, I haven’t got a job. Anyhow, I’m not on the pay-
roll. My business is to play the fiddle mornings and evenings.
Between times I carry coal, cut potatoes, and clean the stove, so to
speak, for relaxation.”
“Something fresh?” said Gordon. “In the Old Country you didn’t
carry coal.”
 “At an English shipyard the trucks discharge into the furnace
hoppers. All the same, at the beginning I used a forge hammer.”
“Now you talk!” said Gordon. “If you were at a shipyard I guess I
can fix you. We’ll go along and see the smith.”
“I saw the foreman and admitted I was not a smith. He stated he
had no use for a roustabout.”
“A foreman knows where he mustn’t make trouble.”
“I fancied that was so, because your cook allowed me to stay. I
expect a good cook is important.”
“A good smith’s important, and Bill’s my pal. Come on. We’ll see
what he can do.”
They went along the track and Kit inquired for the children.
“They’re pretty spry,” said Gordon. “When I dumped them at
Portage they allowed if I met up with you I was to send you back.
They’re surely keen on conjuring.”
Kit laughed and remarked that he thought Portage was on
another line. Gordon nodded.
“That’s so. I went back to Winnipeg. Mr. Austin’s at the
Strathcona, and since I was some time in Ontario, I wanted to see if
he’d kept my job.”
“But has a gentleman at Winnipeg something to do with the
bridge?”
“Mr. Austin’s the company’s engineer; he took a holiday. Wheeler’s
head construction boss, but he’s not around all the time. If we can
fix you up, you’ll like Austin. He’s a pretty good sort of boss.”
Kit was not interested, and by and by Gordon stopped at the
forge. The smith threw a glowing iron in a tank and looked up. He
was a big fellow and his lined face was wet by sweat. He knitted his
brows as if he frowned unconsciously.
“Howd’y, Jake. You’re back. Are you wanting something?”
“You want help, Bill, my partner, Carson, is your man. He was
raised at an Old Country shipyard, but he can clean a cook stove,
conjure with a shoe-string, and play the fiddle.”
“Can he sharpen tools?” Bill inquired.
 “Let me try,” said Kit, and the smith pulled some chisels from a
box. Then he turned to Gordon.
“I don’t want you, Jake. Get going!”
Gordon gave Kit a smile, and when he went off Kit looked about.
A revolving shaft crossed the roof, and when he put a belt on a
pulley, a small thick wheel began to spin. At the shipyard, Kit was for
a time at the lathe-shop, and he thought he knew something about
grinding tools. Moreover, he saw he must not bother the smith. He
claimed he could sharpen tools and the fellow had given him the
chisels. When Kit carried back the chisels he would know. The
Canadians were a sternly logical lot.
To hold the steel on the spinning stone absorbed Kit. He liked to
mold the bevel and see the thick edge melt to an almost invisible
line. The roll of the shaft and the noise the slapping belt made were
soothing. Perhaps he had some talent for music, but he was, by
inheritance, an engineer. After a time, Bill picked up a chisel and felt
the edge.
“Pretty good! You can go ahead.”
Kit turned and pulled off the belt.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t stay.”
“Then why in thunder did you begin?”
“Gordon thought you wanted help, but the boys will soon be
ready for supper, and I left a tub of potatoes by the track. Jock
expects me to cut the potatoes, and I think he’s asleep.”
“Some folks get their dollars easy,” the smith remarked. “Well, I
reckon I could put you on the pay-roll, but I want you now.”
“It’s awkward,” said Kit. “I’d sooner grind the tools, but when I
arrived Jock gave me supper, and until he lets me go I’m his man.”
“You get your grub; but you don’t know if I can hire you up?”
“I don’t think it’s altogether my argument,” Kit replied. “If you like,
I’ll come back in the morning.”
“You make me tired,” said the smith. “You better cut your blamed
potatoes. Get out!”
 Kit went and rather moodily helped the cook serve supper. In
Canada a smith’s pay is good, but a minstrel’s reward was small.
Moreover, at the smithy the glimmering forge, the red iron, and the
rows of tools had called. There was Kit’s occupation; he did not
know much about cooking, and all he did know he did not like.
When the plates were cleaned he went to the bridge-head and
lighted his pipe. After breakfast he resolved to start for the water
tank. By and by Gordon arrived, and when he noted Kit’s rueful look
he smiled.
“Bill wants you in the morning. The foreman agrees he can try
you out.”
“Then I expect you’re accountable,” said Kit. “Bill declared I made
him tired and ordered me to be off.”
“Bill is like that, but I reckon you don’t get us,” Gordon remarked
with a grin. “You want to remember you have done with the Old
Country.”
“It’s rather obvious,” said Kit. “All the same, I begin to think a
good Canadian’s a first-class type. I won’t bother you by examples,
but I met a young fellow at Winnipeg station I’d like to meet another
time. However, Jock expects some music, and I’m in the mood to
play a rousing tune.”
 CHAPTER XIV
THE WATER CURE
In the morning Kit went to the forge. When he arrived the smith
was pulling about some iron, but by and by he gave Kit a nod.
“You cut them potatoes?”
“I expect you ate some for supper.”
“Maybe so,” agreed the smith. “I don’t claim I’m sick!”
Kit studied the fellow. Nothing indicated that he was humorous.
His glance was hard and he pushed forward his heavy jaw. Kit,
however, did not think him antagonistic. For the most part the bridge
gang were a sober lot.
“Shall I start the blower for you?” he inquired.
“You can start your wheel and grind them tools,” replied Bill.
Kit got to work and the revolving grindstone bit the steel. Bill set
the blower going and its rhythmic throb shook the iron walls. Blue
flames danced about the forge, and the iron bedded in the coal
began to shine. Bill, leaning down, turned the glowing lump and the
reflections touched his face. The lines were deep and Kit remarked
the white hair on his knitted brows. His large mouth was firm and his
look was grim. In the background smoke and dust floated about.
Bill pulled the iron from the fire and the gloom was banished. The
heavy hammer crashed and dazzling sparks leaped up. To steady the
lump and use the hammer was awkward, but Kit stayed at the
grindstone. Bill was not the man to whom one rashly offered help.
After a time he gave Kit a bar, marked by a punch where holes
must be made, and Kit clamped the iron on the machine-drill table.
The wrench he used was worn and slipped on the nuts, and Bill gave
him a sliding-jaw spanner.
“When you’re through, put her in the box,” he said.
 Kit saw the spanner was a well-made, accurate tool. At the back
of the jaw he noted two small holes, and he smiled.
“To know your tools is useful,” he remarked.
“Sure,” said Bill. “Anyhow, the spanner’s a daisy, and I don’t want
her left about. When the slobs at the bridge drop their truck
overboard they come for mine.”
Kit drilled the holes and thought Bill was satisfied. In the
afternoon the forge was hot, but all he did interested him and he
had sweated by shipyard fires. For two or three days nothing
disturbed him; and then a man from the bridge arrived one morning
and threw down some tools.
“You’ll grind them before you stop,” he said, and put a bar on the
anvil. “Eye’s broke. We want her welded up. I’ll wait.”
“That’s so,” said Bill dryly and resumed his hammering.
The workman sat down and began to cut tobacco.
“You don’t want to hustle for me; I’ll take a smoke. Mr. Austin’s
waiting for the bar.”
“Now you talk!” Bill remarked. “Mr. Austin’s the company’s
engineer, but not long since you were slinging rails. I don’t want you
near my tool rack. Skat!”
The other pushed the keg he occupied farther from the wall, and
by and by Bill beckoned Kit. Kit went to the anvil, and for a minute
or two steadied the glowing iron Bill pulled from the forge. The
hammer crashed on the hot metal, and Kit turned his head from the
flying sparks. When the eye was welded Bill plunged the iron in the
tank and threw it on the floor.
“There’s your bolt. Light out!”
The workman went off, and some time afterwards Kit moved
some drills on a bench.
“I don’t see the spanner.”
Bill frowned. “If she’s gone, I know where she went. Railton was
pretty smart.”
“You think he picked up the tool when we welded the bolt? If that
is so, I’m accountable, and I’ll go after the fellow. Suppose you give
me a message for somebody at the bridge?”
“If you went now, Railton would guess we were on his track. You
want to wait until he gets careless. Maybe I’ll think of something in
the afternoon.”
Kit agreed, and at four o’clock he started for the bridge. The
foreman said that the thickness of the stuff the smith inquired about
was standard thickness, and he reckoned Bill ought to know. Kit
went back along the platform and, stopping at the end, looked
about.
The afternoon was very hot and the river shone dazzlingly. An
angry turmoil broke against the iron piers, and for some distance
down-stream the current was marked by lines of foam. In the
shadow of the trees on the high bank dark eddies revolved. Across
the river, grass and poplar bluffs rolled back to the horizon.
The landscape, however, did not much interest Kit and he studied
the workmen. Some were occupied on stages hung between the
piers; some crawled about the lattice girders like spiders on a web;
their figures were dark against the thin gray steel and shining water.
The wind had dropped, and along the bank smoke and steam went
straight up. In England Kit had not known the sun as hot.
The men moved languidly, and where a big tie was hoisted two or
three disputed. Kit thought it was the sort of afternoon on which a
good foreman leaves the gang alone. For him to claim the forge
spanner might make trouble; but he must get the tool.
By and by he noted three or four men on a stage who lifted a
heavy brace. They obviously meant to fasten the brace across the
lattice for the riveters. Kit thought one was Railton, and he climbed
to the stage. The men faced the lattice and did not notice his
advance. The stage was four or five feet broad and the other side
was open to the river, twenty feet below. Tools were scattered about
the planks, but Kit did not see the spanner, and he stopped behind
Railton. The fellow’s hip-pocket bulged and Kit believed the spanner
accounted for the bulge.
“Can’t you hold up your end?” one of the gang inquired.
 “I’ve most got her fixed,” said Railton. “Ease her to me and the
bolt will go through.”
Kit knew Railton would in a few moments feel for the spanner,
and something must be risked. Moving noiselessly, he pushed his
hand into the bulging pocket. Railton’s hand went round his back,
but he dared not let go the brace, and Kit pulled out the spanner. He
stepped back, and striking his foot against a tool-box, rolled across
the planks. When he jumped up Railton blocked the way to the
ladder. Railton’s face was red and he clenched his fist.
“Did you reckon I carried my wad in my overalls?”
“I reckoned you carried Bill’s spanner,” Kit rejoined.
“Maybe it was Bill’s, but all you can get out of the smithy is yours
for keeps. Hand over!”
Kit began to think he must fight for the tool, but he did not mean
to do so unless he was forced. Railton was big and had, no doubt,
for long been engaged in strenuous labor. Kit was rather lightly built,
and at the drawing office one got soft.
“If your argument’s good, the spanner’s mine. You see, I got the
thing out of your pocket.”
“One on you, Steve!” a man remarked. “Can you beat it?”
“Oh, shucks! I’ve no use for talking,” said Steve. “If you can keep
the spanner for five minutes, Kid, I’ll allow it’s yours.”
Kit doubted. The platform was narrow and encumbered by the
tool-box and a forge. He must fight on awkward ground, and he did
not think his antagonist would use the rules of the boxing ring. He
expected to be beaten, but if he refused the challenge he must leave
the camp.
“I’ll try,” he said.
Railton jumped across the platform, as if he trusted his weight
and strength. Kit’s guard was beaten down and his jarred right arm
dropped. He felt as if he were struck by a forge hammer, and he fell
against the lattice. Another knock like that would put him out, and if
he fell the other way he would go into the river. The foreman was
some distance off and, if he resolved to stop the fight, a minute or
two must go before he reached the spot.
 Kit edged away from the lattice and tried to maneuver. He hit
Railton, and then the forge blocked his way and he took another
knock. He knew his face was cut; he was dizzy and his breath was
going. The group on the platform melted and his antagonist was
indistinct. If he did not get back to the lattice he must go over the
planks, and if he did get back Railton would batter him against the
bars. All the same, he meant to stick to the spanner.
Then Railton’s arm went round his neck, and he began to hope.
On the narrow stage, where one could not get about, the other’s
weight and muscular force counted for much; but he was a fool to
clinch. When one wrestled by Cumberland rules one did not need
much room. Kit was something of a wrestler, and he knew his
antagonist was not. In fact, if he could brace up for a minute or two,
Railton would pay for his rashness. Kit had turned his head and the
fellow could not hit his face, and for him to use his heavy boots was
risky. Railton’s legs would soon be occupied.
Kit spread his legs, took a smashing blow on his ribs, and grimly
felt for a good hold. When a Cumberland wrestler gets a good hold
the struggle is over. Gasping and straining, he leaned forward and
locked his arms round the other’s back. Then he stiffened his body,
set his mouth, and lifted.
Railton’s feet left the boards and he swayed in Kit’s tense arms.
His body bent and his legs went up. Kit, battered and exhausted, let
go and fell against the forge. Somebody shouted, men ran across
the platform, and Kit saw Railton was not about. The fellow was in
the river. Kit pushed back the others and jumped.
The plunge braced him, and when he came up his dizziness was
gone. Not far off he saw Railton’s head. The fellow tossed about in
the broken water behind the columns, and when Kit tried to reach
the spot an eddy swung him round. Railton vanished, but a few
moments afterwards Kit’s leg was seized and he was strongly pulled
down. He got loose and reached the surface. Railton came up
behind him, pushed Kit’s head under, and let him go.
Kit, fighting for breath, went down-stream. He thought he heard
the men on the stage laugh, and he began to see the joke. He had
gone to help a first-class swimmer. Railton, a yard or two off, turned
and gave him a humorous grin.
“You have surely got some gall! Steer for the bank. I’ll see you
through.”
They were carried down-stream, and when they struggled in the
eddies along the steep bank Railton, a yard or two in front, seized a
willow branch and stretched out his hand.
“Hang on, sonny! I’ll boost you up.”
“If you leave me alone, I can get up,” Kit gasped.
“Get a holt,” said Railton. “You’re going to be pulled up.”
Kit thought he saw a light. The men on the bridge were
interested, and Railton played for their applause.
“Very well,” he said. “I stick to the spanner.”
“That’s so,” Railton agreed, and seized Kit’s hand.
The current swept Kit into the tree, and crawling through the
branches, he reached the bank. Railton pulled him up a steep pitch,
and at the top they saw a man on the path whose clothes were not
a workman’s clothes.
“Mr. Austin! Now I beat it,” said Railton, and plunged into the
trees.
Kit stopped. He was battered, and doubted if he could go very
fast. Moreover, to jump for the brush was ridiculous. He turned and
faced the young fellow who gave him the cigarettes at Winnipeg
station. Austin studied him with a twinkle. Kit’s face was cut and the
water ran from his greasy clothes.
“You have rather obviously got up against it,” Austin remarked.
“What was the trouble?”
“I don’t know that it was very important. Railton claimed a
spanner I didn’t think was his,” Kit replied.
“A forge spanner? Well, I’ve known Bill grumble about his tools
vanishing, but a number of the boys stopped for some minutes to
watch the fight, and the company won’t stand for your holding up
the gang.”
 “I was not at all keen to fight, but I felt I must get the spanner,”
said Kit, in an apologetic voice.
“Steve Railton’s a hefty fellow,” Austin remarked. “Since you threw
him off the stage, perhaps your jumping after him was humorous.”
“The joke was, I went to help a man who swims better than I. No
doubt you noted he pulled me into the willows.”
“I imagine Steve wanted the boys to note it,” said Austin dryly.
“Another time, you must wait until the whistle blows.”
He let Kit go, and Kit, starting for the forge, gave Bill the spanner.
“I got it, but the job was harder than I thought.”
“Looks like that,” the smith agreed. “Did Steve put you in the
river?”
“I put Steve in,” Kit replied modestly. “Then I thought I ought to
go after him. I didn’t know he could swim.”
“You have surely got some gall,” said the smith with a hoarse
laugh, and resumed his hammering.
Kit noted the laugh. Although he had not known Bill laugh before,
the fellow was human; but he had begun to shiver and he pulled off
his wet clothes. The forge was very hot and the garments he did not
pull off would soon dry. Kit could not put on other clothes because
his trunk had not yet arrived.
 CHAPTER XV
KIT MAKES PROGRESS
For two or three weeks Kit was strenuously, and on the whole
happily, occupied at the forge. When the sun was on the roof the
iron shack got very hot, and sometimes the labor was severe, but Kit
was interested and the pay was good. His trunk, broken by the
baggage gang, had arrived, and in the cool evenings to put on clean
clothes and play the violin for an attentive audience was some relief.
Then he liked the smith. Bill was sternly quiet and admitted he had
no use for politeness. As a rule, when he did talk, his remarks were
aggressive, but he was a skilful workman and asked from his helper
nothing he himself did not undertake.
For all that, Kit sometimes brooded. If he remained until the
bridge was built he would not be rich, and his ambition was not to
help a smith. Moreover, he feared when the frost began the
company would pay him off, and in the North winter work was hard
to get. Then he had promised he would not, for a stipulated time,
write to Evelyn. She would be anxious for him, and since he had
work, of a sort, he wanted her to know.
Sometimes he speculated about Alison. She was at Fairmead, and
although the settlement was not far off, it was on another line. Kit
did not know if she would stay for long, and when he put her on the
car at Winnipeg he felt they said good-bye for good. All the same,
he was sorry. Alison was a first-class pal; but she was gone, and he
was Evelyn’s lover and must concentrate on mending his broken
fortunes.
When dusk began to fall one evening, he put up his violin and
lighted his pipe. The men had gone to the bunk-house and all was
quiet. Kit heard the current break against the piers, and in the
distance cow-bells faintly chimed. He thought about the river that
ran by the oaks at Netherhall. Somehow when he pictured
Netherhall it was summer afternoon, and Evelyn and he walked in
the shade. The cow-bells, however, struck a foreign note, and when
Kit heard mosquitoes he frowned.
By and by Austin came along the track. He was an athletic young
fellow, but his look was thoughtful. Kit began to think the Canadians’
habit was to concentrate. None he so far knew was remarkably light-
hearted.
“I heard you play,” said Austin. “You have some talent; but for a
construction camp, was not the music rather good?”
“The boys did not grumble. My notion is, uncultivated people like
better music than some composers think. Anyhow, I risked it. I don’t
know that I have much talent, but two or three Canadians informed
me that I have some gall.”
Austin smiled, for he thought the compliment justified. In a rather
stern country, Kit’s joyous carelessness struck a foreign note. Then
he was independent, and North American democracy cultivates a
type. All the same, Austin noted that when he began to talk Kit got
up. Since work had stopped, Austin did not want the other to
acknowledge him boss, and he sat down and lighted a cigarette.
“Well, Bill wants to keep you, and he’s pretty fastidious about his
helpers. I don’t know what you think about staying; but I don’t know
your proper occupation.”
Kit hesitated. Austin was friendly, but Kit did not want to use his
friendliness. He admitted he was perhaps extravagantly proud.
“When I arrived I was a strolling musician and was glad to fiddle
for my supper,” he said. “So long as Bill thinks me useful, I’m
satisfied to remain.”
“Wheeler, the construction boss, is willing. I expect you know Miss
Forsyth has got a post at Fairmead?”
“I don’t know,” said Kit, and his glance got keen. “In fact, I don’t
altogether see——”
“You may remember the lady who talked to Miss Forsyth at
Winnipeg station? Well, sometimes I go home week-ends to
Fairmead, and not long ago we met Miss Forsyth. She’s clerk at a
creamery and was interested to know you were at the bridge.”
“Fairmead’s on the other line. Do you go to Winnipeg?”
“The conductor’s allowed to stop the cars at Willows, and a flag
station on the other line is not far.”
Kit saw Austin thought him keen to go; in fact, he admitted Austin
had perhaps some grounds to think him Alison’s lover. When Kit
stated he did not know she had got a post, Austin was clearly
puzzled.
“Oh, well,” he said, “if I can get leave I’d like to see Miss Forsyth;
but I mustn’t ask for a holiday yet. Anyhow, your stopping for a few
moments at the waiting-room was kind. Before you came along we
felt rather forlorn.”
“Something of the sort was plain. The crowd was a foreign crowd
and you were British. Then we saw your violin-case, and we doubted
if you knew Canada, which for a beginner is a pretty hard country.
Well, Carrie and I were going home, and the contrast was rather
marked. I expect it accounted for our stopping.”
Kit wondered. Alison had accounted for the others’ stopping and
he thought her supposition accurate. He began to talk about the
bridge, and after a time Austin went to his office.
On the whole. Kit thought he would not go to Fairmead. For one
thing, the journey was awkward and they were busily occupied at
the forge. Moreover, he doubted if he ought to go. Alison’s charm
was strong and he was flesh and blood.
A week or two afterwards, when he raked up the fire one evening,
Bill gave him some patterns he marked by chalk.
“You’ll take the templates to Mr. Austin. I can make the truck the
way he wants, but a square end costs less to forge and leaves more
metal when you cut the slot. You want to show him——”
Kit noted the smith’s remarks and after supper started for Austin’s
office. The evening was cold and the woods were wet. For two or
three days the rain had not stopped, and big drops splashed in the
trampled mud along the track.