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Show 164 At the docks, Andy forgot his hunger at the sight of an enormous steamship being unloaded. On one end of a bridgelike crane, a big steam shovel, shaped like an open clam shell, lowered its jaws into the hold of the ship and bit into tons or iron ore. Then it raised the clam shell high to swing above a hopper where it dropped the ore, which slid down chutes into waiting railroad cars. "Look at the size of that ship!" Andy yelled. "It must be six hundred feet long." "You got a good eye, kid. She's 605 feet overall and has a 58-foot beam. She's the J. Pierpont Morgan, christened after the millionaire of the same name." The man who spoke to Andy was leaning against one of the steel girders that supported the steam-powered unloader. He was short and fat, with upper arms as round as hams. "You kids just get off a freight?" he asked, shouting to be heard above the racket of machinery and the crash of dumped ore. Andy eyed the man with apprehension. "You a railroad cop?" "Not me. I'm the cook on the J. Pierpont Morgan," he answered. "I could tell you two come off a coal freight because you're both black from coal dirt. I used to ride the rails myself, when I was a kid like you." "Say, mister, maybe you could tell us where to get something to eat," Andy hollered. "We're starved." The man shifted against the girder. "Where you two headin'?" "No place special." Andy was doing all the talking. His dejection seemed to have disappeared in excitement over the sights |
