Brandon of the Engineers

"No," said Fuller. "They have to be thought of, but life isn't all a

matter of building dams. Now I'm getting old, I've found that out."

"And you? Have you any opinion on the subject?" Ida asked Dick.

Dick hesitated, wondering whether she meant to put him at his ease or was

amused by his seriousness.

"I don't imagine my views are worth much and they're not very clear. In a

way, of course, it's plain that Mr. Fuller's right--"

"But after all, building dams and removing rocks may very well come

first?"

Dick pondered this. So far, his profession had certainly come first. He

was not a prig or a recluse, but he found engineering more interesting

than people. Now he came to think of it, he had been proud of Helen's

beauty, but she had not stirred him much or occupied all his thoughts.

Indeed, he had only once been overwhelmingly conscious of a woman's

charm, and that was in Kenwardine's garden. He had lost his senses then,

but did not mean to let anything of the kind happen again.

"Well," he said diffidently, "so long as you're content with your

occupation, it doesn't seem necessary to make experiments and look for

adventures. I expect it saves you trouble to stick to what you like and

know."

He noted Ida's smile, and was silent afterwards while she argued with her

father. He did not want to obtrude himself, and since they seemed to

expect him to stay, it was pleasant enough to sit and listen.

The air was getting cooler and the moon had risen and cast a silver track

across the sea. The distant rumble of the surf came up the hillside in a

faint, rhythmic beat, and the peaks above the camp had grown in

distinctness. A smell of spice drifted out of the jungle, and Dick, who

was tired, was sensible of a delightful languor. The future had suddenly

grown bright and besides this, Ida's gracious friendliness had given him

back his confidence and self-respect. He was no longer an outcast; he had

his chance of making good and regaining the amenities of life that he had

learned to value by their loss. He was very grateful to the girl and

Fuller, but at length took his leave and returned to the locomotive shed

with a light heart and a springy step.

Next morning he began his new work with keen energy. It absorbed him, and

as the dam slowly rose in a symmetrical curve of molded stone, its

austere beauty commanded his attention. Hitherto he had given utility the

leading place, but a change had begun the night he sat beneath the

copper-beech with Clare Kenwardine. The design of the structure was good,

but Dick determined that the work should be better, and sometimes stopped

in the midst of his eager activity to note the fine, sweeping lines and

silvery-gray luster of the concrete blocks. There were soft lights at

dawn and when the sun sank in which the long embankment glimmered as if

carved in mother-of-pearl.