After a time, the Adjutant sent for him and held out a large, sealed
envelope.
"These are the plans I showed you," he said. "Colonel Farquhar is driving
to Newcastle, and will stop at Storeton Grange for supper at midnight.
The plans must be delivered to him there. You have a motorcycle, I
think?"
"Yes."
"Very well; it is not a long ride, but I'll release you from duty now.
Don't be late at Storeton, take care of the papers, and get Colonel
Farquhar's receipt."
There was a manufacturing town not far off, and Dick decided to go there
and spend the evening with a cousin of his. They might go to a theater,
or if not, Lance would find some means of amusing him. As a rule, Dick
did not need amusing, but he felt that he must celebrate the building of
the bridge.
Lance Brandon was becoming known as an architect, and he had a good deal
of constructive talent. The physical likeness between him and Dick was
rather marked, but he was older and they differed in other respects.
Lance knew how to handle men as well as material, and perhaps he owed as
much to this as to his artistic skill. His plans for a new church and the
remodeling of some public buildings had gained him recognition; but he
already was popular at country houses in the neighborhood and was courted
by the leading inhabitants of the town.
Dick and he dined at the best hotel and Lance listened sympathetically to
the description of the bridge. He was not robust enough for the army, but
he hinted that he envied Dick; and Dick felt flattered. He sometimes
bantered Lance about his social gifts and ambitions, but he had never
resented the favors his father had shown his cousin. Lance had been left
an orphan at an early age and the elder Brandon--a man of means and
standing--had brought him up with his son. They had been good friends and
Dick was pleased when his father undertook to give Lance a fair start at
the profession he chose. He imagined that now Lance was beginning to make
his mark, his allowance had stopped, but this was not his business. Lance
was a very good sort, although he was clever in ways that Dick was not
and indeed rather despised.
"What shall we do next?" Dick asked when they had lounged for a time in
the smoking-room.
Lance made a gesture of resignation as he stretched himself in a big
chair. He was dressed with quiet taste, his face was handsome but rather
colorless, and his movements were languid.