Brandon of the Engineers

Dusk was falling when Dick went to keep his appointment with his

employer. Fireflies glimmered in the brush beside the path, and the

lights of Santa Brigida flashed in a brilliant cluster on the edge of the

shadowy sea. High above, rugged peaks cut black against the sky, and the

land breeze that swept their lower slopes brought with it instead of

coolness a warm, spicy smell. There was more foliage when Dick reached

the foot of a projecting spur, for a dark belt of forest rolled down the

hill; and by and by he saw a big tent, that gleamed with a softened

radiance like a paper lantern, among a clump of palms. It seemed to be

well lighted inside, and Dick remembered having heard orders for electric

wires to be connected with the power-house at the dam.

Fuller obviously meant to give his daughter all the civilized comfort

possible, and Dick was glad he had been able to find a clean duck suit,

though he was not sure he had succeeded in removing all the oily grime

from his face. Nothing could be done with his hands. The knuckles were

scarred, the nails broken, and the black grease from the engine had

worked into his skin. Still, this did not matter much, because he had

gradually overcome his fastidiousness and it was not likely that Miss

Fuller would notice him.

She was, however, sitting outside the tent, from which an awning extended

so as to convert its front into a covered veranda, and Dick was half

surprised when she gave him a smile of recognition that warranted his

taking off his hat. Then Fuller, beckoning him to come forward, switched

on another lamp and the light fell on a table covered with plans. Dick

stopped when he reached it and waited, not knowing how his employer meant

to receive him.

"Sit down," said Fuller, indicating a chair, and then gave him one of the

plans, some paper, and a fountain pen. "Study that piece of digging and

let me know the weight of stuff to be moved, the number of men you'd use,

and what you think the job would cost."

Dick set to work, and at once became absorbed. Twenty minutes passed and

he did not move or speak, nor did he see the smile with which Ida

answered Fuller's look. In another ten minutes he put down the pen and

gave Fuller his calculations.

"I think that's near it, sir. I'm reckoning on the use of colored peons."

Fuller nodded. "You haven't left much margin for what we call

contingencies. But they're going to bring us some coffee. Will you take a

cigar?"

A Chinaman brought out a silver coffee-pot on a tray, which he placed on

a folding table in front of Ida, and since it was two or three yards from

the other, Dick got up when she filled the cups. She gave him two, which

he carried back, but remained where she was, within hearing but far

enough away not to obtrude her society upon the others. Dick, who lighted

his cigar, felt grateful to Fuller. It was some time since he had met

people of any refinement on friendly terms, and until he took up his

quarters in the locomotive shed had been living in squalor and dirt.