Near the centre of the tent was a flat table about six by ten feet.
Just at present it held many drawings, all arranged in orderly piles.

Not far from the big table was a smaller one on which a typewriting machine rested.
The man who sat at the large table, and who wheeled about in a revolving chair as Tom and Harry entered, was perhaps forty-five years of age.

His head was covered with a mass of bushy black hair.

His face was as swarthy, in its clean-shaven condition, as though the owner had spent all of his life under a hot sun.
His clothing like that of all the rest of the engineers in camp was of khaki, his shirt of blue flannel, with a long, flowing black tie.
"Mr.Thurston," announced the assistant engineer, "I have just encountered these young gentlemen, who state that they are under orders from the New York offices to report to you for employment." Mr.Thurston looked both boys over in silence for a few seconds.
His keen eyes appeared to take in everything that could possibly concern them.

Then he rose, extending his hand, first to Reade, next to Hazelton.
"From what technical school do you come ?" inquired the engineer as he resumed his chair.
"From none, sir," Tom answered promptly "We didn't have money enough for that sort of training." Mr.Thurston raised his eyebrows in astonished inquiry.
"Then why," he asked, "did you come here?
What made you think that you could break in as engineers ?".