Brandon of the Engineers

One morning, soon after Fuller and his daughter had gone home, Dick stood

at a table in the testing house behind the mixing sheds. The small,

galvanized iron building shook with the throb of engines and rattle of

machinery, and now and then a shower of cinders pattered upon the roof;

for the big mill that ground up the concrete was working across the road.

The lattice shutters were closed, for the sake of privacy, and kept out

the glare, though they could not keep out the heat, which soaked through

the thin, iron walls, and Dick's face was wet with perspiration as he

arranged a number of small concrete blocks. Some of these were broken,

and some partly crushed. Delicate scales and glass measures occupied a

neighboring shelf, and a big steel apparatus that looked rather like a

lever weighing machine stood in the shadow.

Where the draught that came through the lattices flowed across the room,

Bethune lounged in a canvas chair, and another man, with a quiet,

sunburned face, sat behind him. This was Stuyvesant, whose authority was

only second to Fuller's.

"Brandon seems to have taken a good deal of trouble, but this kind of

investigation needs the strictest accuracy, and we haven't the best of

testing apparatus," Bethune remarked. "I expect he'll allow that the

results he has got may be to some extent misleading, and I doubt if it's

worth while to go on with the matter. Are you sure you have made no

mistakes, Dick?"

Dick pondered for a few moments. If he were right, as he thought he was,

the statements he had to make would lead to the discharge of the

sub-contractor. Remembering his own disgrace, he shrank from condemning

another. He knew what he had suffered, and the man might be innocent

although his guilt seemed plain. It was a hateful situation, but his duty

was to protect his master's interests and he could not see him robbed.

"You can check my calculations," he answered quietly.

"That's so," agreed Stuyvesant, who added with a dry smile as he noted

Bethune's disapproving look: "We can decide about going on with the thing

when we have heard Brandon."

"Very well," said Dick, giving him some papers, and then indicated two

different rows of the small concrete blocks. "These marked A were made

from cement in our store; the lot B from some I took from Oliva's stock

on the mole. They were subjected to the same compressive, shearing, and

absorbent tests, and you'll see that there's very little difference in

the results. The quality of standard makes of cement is, no doubt, much

alike, but you wouldn't expect to find that of two different brands

identical. My contention is that the blocks were made from the same

stuff."