The Hallowell Partnership

CHAPTER XI
A LONG PULL AND A STRONG PULL

"What is the latest bulletin, Sally Lou?"

Ned Burford, hot, muddy, breathless, ran up the martin-box steps and put his head inside the door.

Sally Lou sat at Ned's desk, her brown eyes intent, her cheeks a little pale. A broad map lay spread before her. One hand steadied small Thomas Tucker, who clung against her knee. The other hand grasped the telephone receiver.

"What's the news, I say? Doesn't central answer? Wires down again, do you s'pose?"

"Yes, central answered, and we reached the operator at Bates Creek an hour ago. She says that the smaller streams below Carter's Ford have not risen since daybreak, but that Bates Creek itself has risen three inches in the last four hours."

"Whew! Three inches since morning! That sounds serious. What about Jackson River?"

"Below Millville the Jackson has flooded its banks. Above Millville the men are patrolling the levees and stacking in sand bags and brush to reinforce the earthwork."

"That means, another crest of water will reach us to-morrow, early. Well, we are ready to face it, I'm thankful to say." Ned settled back in his big chair with a sigh of relief. "That is, unless it should prove to be more than a three-foot rise. And there is practically no danger that it will go beyond that stage. Our upper laterals are excavated to final depth. Our levee is growing like magic, and Hallowell is putting in splendid time on the lower laterals with the big dredge. So we needn't worry. As soon as he finishes all the lateral excavation, he will bring the dredges down to the main ditch and start in to deepen the channel to its final depth. When that second excavation is done, the channel will allow for a six-foot rise. That channel depth, of course, will put us far out of any danger of overflow. Then when the June floods come, the creeks can rise four inches or forty inches if they like. We won't care."

Sally Lou looked sharply at his grimy, cheerful face. Her own did not reflect his contentment. She put down the receiver and bent frowning over the map. Her pencil wandered over the maze of fine red lines that marked the excavation.

"Hallowell and I had nothing but bad luck on this contract until two weeks ago, when Locke and Crosby came on their inspection tour," Ned went on serenely. "But since their visit, we've had two solid weeks of the best fortune any engineer could ask. It has been almost too good; it's positively uncanny. Not a break in the machinery; only one cave-in, and that a trifle; not a solitary quarrel among the laborers—the shifts have moved like clock-work. It was Crosby's doing, I suppose. His coming heartened us all up; all of us; even to the dredges themselves. Though, on my word, Sally Lou, I'm almost afraid of such unchanging good luck. It's no' canny."

Sally Lou turned to him suddenly. Her fingers tapped the desk with nervous little clicks.

"Listen, Ned. Have you finished the upper laterals? Are they safe, no matter how high the water may rise?"

"N-no. They are excavated, but the bank is nothing but heaped mud, you know. Still, it would stand anything short of a flood."

"What about the lower laterals?"

"Same state of affairs there. Only that the two lowest ditches aren't cut at all. Why?"

Sally Lou swung round in the desk chair and faced her husband. Her eyes were very dark and anxious now.

"One more question, Ned. Could the work stand a three-foot rise?"

Ned stared.

"A three-foot rise? No, it could not. A three-foot rise would stop our levee-building. A rise of four feet or more would put us out of the game. We'd be washed out, smashed, ruined. But why do you ask such questions? What makes you imagine——"

"I'm not imagining, Ned. I had a telephone call not five minutes ago from the district inspector. Yes, I know you think he's always shouting 'Wolf!' but this time he may be right. He says that he has just come down from Chicago on the Central, and that the whole mid-section of the State is fairly submerged by these endless rains. Worse, the storm warnings are up for further rains. And he believes that there will be a rise of three feet within two days. That is, unless the rains stop."

Ned started to his feet.

"A rise of three feet! What is the man talking about? Don't you believe one word, Sally Lou. That inspector is a regular hoot-owl. He'd rather gloom and forebode than breathe. But maybe I'd better go and tell Hallowell. Perhaps we can ginger up our excavation. Yet the men and the machines are working up to their limit."

He shuffled into his wet oilskins once more.

"Where is Roderick, Ned?"

"He just came in off his watch. He's sound asleep in the hammock over at his shack. Marian is over there too. She made Mr. Gates bring her down at five this morning, and she has worked like a Turk every minute. She spent the morning with Hallowell, up the laterals. She has learned to run his launch better that he can, so he lets her manage the boat for him. Then she takes all his notes, and does all his telephoning, and passes along his orders to the commissary men, and seconds him at every turn. Did you ever in all your life see anybody change as she has done? When I remember the listless, useless, fretful specimen that she was, those first weeks, then look at her now, I can hardly believe my eyes."

Sally Lou listened a little impatiently.

"Yes, I know. Ned, please go and tell Roderick about the inspector's message. He surely ought to know."

"All right, I'm going." Ned put down his frolicking small sons reluctantly. Sally Lou laughed at his unwilling face. Yet she looked after him anxiously as he sauntered away. Then her eyes turned to the brimming canal. Tree branches and bits of lumber, washed down from the upper land by the heavy storm, rolled and tumbled past. The sky was thick and gray, the wind blew straight from the east.

"I hate to fidget and forebode. But I—I almost wish that I could make Ned forebode a little. I'm afraid he ought to worry. And Roderick ought to be a little anxious, too."

Suddenly the telephone bell rang. Sally Lou sprang to answer it.

"Yes, this is the contract camp. A Chicago call? Is it—Is it head-quarters? Oh, is this Mr. Breckenridge who is speaking? Shall I call Mr. Burford?"

Strong and clear across two hundred miles of storm the voice reached her, a hurrying command.

"Do not call your husband. No time. Operator says the wind raging here may break connections at any minute. Tell him that we have positive word that a tremendous rise is on the way. A cloudburst north of Huntsville started this new crest two hours ago. Moreover, a storm belt extends across the State, covering a district thirty miles wide directly north of you. Tell our engineers to spare neither money nor effort in making ready. Tell them, whatever else they must neglect, to save——"

Click!

The receiver dropped from Sally Lou's shaking hand. Not another sound came over the wire. She signalled frantically.

"Oh, if he had only told me! 'To save'—to save what? The machinery, the levee, the laterals—Oh, central, please, please!"

Still no sound. At last central's voice, a thin little whisper.

"Chicago connections broken ... terrible storm ... sorry can't reach——"

The thin little whisper dropped to silence.

"Mammy, take these babies. I'm going away." Sally Lou rolled Thomas Tucker off her lap and dashed away to Roderick's shack. Trembling, she poured out her ill news.

"This means business." Roderick, heavy-eyed and stupid, struggled into hip boots and slicker. "Breckenridge isn't frightening us for nothing. We daren't lose a minute. Come along, Burford."

"Come along—where?" Burford stood stunned before this bewildering menace. "What more can we do? Aren't we rushing the whole plant to the danger notch of speed as it is?"

"There is one thing we must do. Decide what part of the work we can abandon. Then put our whole force, men, machinery, and all, to work at the one point where it will do the most good."

"What can we abandon? It's all equally important."

"That is for you and me to decide. Come along."

"If Breck had only finished his sentence! 'To save—' Surely he meant for us to save the dredges?"

Again the boys looked at each other.

"To save the dredges, maybe. But that doesn't sound like Breckenridge. 'To save the land-owners from loss,' that's more like what he'd say."

"If we could only reach him, for even half a minute——"

"That is precisely what we can't do." Roderick's big shoulders lifted. His heavy face settled into lines of steel. "We'll bring all three of the machines down stream, and put up our fight on the main ditch. If we can cut through to the river, before the rise gets here, we will save the crops for most of the land-owners, anyway. That will check any danger of the water backing up into the narrow laterals and overflowing them."

Burford frowned.

"Do you realize that by making that move we shall risk wrecking the dredges? We will have to tow them down in this rough, high water against this heavy wind. We may smash and sink all three. And they cost the company a cool twenty thousand apiece, remember."

Roderick's jaw set.

"I realize just that. But it is up to us to decide. If we stop our excavation and huddle the machines back into the laterals, we will save our equipment from any risk. But the overflow will sweep the whole lower district and ruin every acre of corn. On the other hand, if we bring the dredges down here and start in full tilt to deepen the channel, we may wreck our machines—and we may not. But, whatever happens, we will be giving the land-owners a chance."

Burford held back, but only for a moment. Then he put out his hand to Roderick, with a slow grin.

"I'm with you, Hallowell. I'll take your lead, straight through. It's up to us, all right. We've got to shoulder the whole responsibility, the whole big, hideous risk. But we'll put it through. That's all."

Together the boys hurried away. Left behind, the girls set to work upon their share of the plan with eager spirit.

"You go with the boys and run the launch for them, Marian. I'll turn the babies over to Mammy and stay right here to watch the telephone and keep the time-books, although time-books could wait, in such a pinch as this. We'll all pull together. And we will pull out safely, never fear."

Sally Lou was right. They all pulled together. Machines, laborers, foremen and all swung splendidly into line. As Ned said, the contract had never shown such team-work. Everybody worked overtime. Everybody faced the rain, the mud, the merciless hurry with high good-humor. The thrill of danger, the daring risk, the loyal zeal and spirit for the company, all spurred them on.

Side by side with Roderick, Marian worked through the day. She had long since forgotten her frail health. She had forgotten her hatred of the dun western country, her dislike of Roderick's work, her weariness, her impatience. With heart and soul she stood by her brother. Only the one wish ruled every act: her eager desire to help Roderick, to stand by him through to the end of this tremendous strain.

"We'll make it!" Roderick grinned at her, tired but content, as he came into the shack for his late supper. "Sally Lou finally reached Springfield on the telephone. The rain has stopped; so while the rise will come, sure as fate, yet it may not be as high as Breckenridge feared. At any rate, we have made splendid time with the big dredge to-day. There is barely an eighth of a mile more cutting to be done. Then we'll reach the river, and we'll be safe, no matter what freshets may happen along. Burford says I'm to take six hours' sleep; then I'll go on watch again. Twelve more hours of working time will see our land-owners secure."

"Ned Burford is running up the shore this minute." Marian peered through the tent flap. "Mulcahy is coming with him. They're in a hurry. I wonder what has happened."

"They'd better not bring me any bad news till I have eaten my supper," said Roderick grimly.

Burford and Mulcahy galloped up the knoll. Headlong they plunged into the tent. Burford was gray-white. Mulcahy stared at Roderick without a word.

"What has happened? Burford, what ails you?"

Burford sat down and mopped his sweating forehead.

"The worst break-down yet, Hallowell. The dipper-bail on the big dredge has snapped clear through."

The three stared at each other in helpless despair. Marian broke the silence.

"The dipper-bail broken again? Why, it's not two weeks since you put on the new handle!"

"True for you, miss. Not two weeks since it broke," said Mulcahy wrathfully. "And its smash means a tie-up all along the line. Not one stroke of ditch-work can be done till it's replaced. Who ever saw a dipper break her bail twice on the same job? 'Tis lightnin' strikin' twice in the same place. But 'tis no use cryin' over spilt milk. One of you gentlemen will have to go to Saint Louis and have a new bail welded at the steam forge. It will cost twenty-four hours' time, but it is the only way. I'll keep the boys hot at work on the levee construction meanwhile."

"Go to Saint Louis to-night! And neither of you two have had a night's sleep this week!" Marian looked at Burford. His sodden clothes hung on him. His round face was pinched and sunken with fatigue. She looked at her brother. He had slumped back in his chair, limp and haggard. He was so utterly tired that even the shock of ill news could not rouse him to meet its challenge.

Then she looked out at the weltering muddy canal, the dark stormy sky.

"Never mind, Rod. We'll manage. You and Ned make out the exact figures and dimensions for the new bail. Then Mulcahy can take me to Grafton in the launch. There I'll catch the Saint Louis train. I'll go straight to the steam forge and urge them to make your bail at once. Then I'll bring it back on the train to-morrow night."

Promptly both boys burst into loud, astonished exclamations.

"Go to Saint Louis alone! I guess I see myself letting you do such a preposterous thing. I'll start, at once."

"Stop that, Hallowell. You can't possibly go. You're so sleepy that you haven't half sense. I'll go myself."

"Oh, you will. Then what about your watch to-night? Shall I take it and my own, too?"

Burford stopped, quenched. He reddened with perplexity.

"We can't either of us be spared, that's the fact of it. But Miss Marian must not think of going."

"Certainly not. I would never allow it."

"Yes, Rod, you will allow it." Marian spoke quietly, but with determination. "The trip to Saint Louis is perfectly safe. Once in the city, I'll take a carriage to the College Club and stay there every minute, except the time that I must spend in giving orders for the bail. No, you two need not look so forbidding. I'm going. And I'm going this identical minute."

Later Marian laughed to remember how swiftly she had overruled every protest. The boys were too tired and dazed to stand against her. It was hardly an hour before she found herself flying down the river, in charge of the faithful Mulcahy, on her way to catch the south-bound train.

"The steam-forge people will do everything in their power to serve you," Roderick had said, as he scrawled the last memoranda for her use. "They know our firm, and they will rush the bail through and have it loaded on the eight-o'clock train. I'll see to it that Mulcahy and two men are at the Grafton dock to meet your train. But if anything should go wrong, Sis, just you hunt up Commodore McCloskey and ask him to help you; for the commodore is our guardian angel, I am convinced of that."

The trip to the city was uneventful. She awoke early, after a good rest, and hurried down to the forge works, a huge smoky foundry near the river. The shop foreman met her with the utmost courtesy and promised that the bail should be made and delivered aboard the afternoon train. Feeling very capable and assured, Marian went back to the club and had spent two pleasant hours in its reading-room when she was called to the telephone.

"Miss Hallowell?" It was the voice of the forge works foreman. "I—er—most unluckily we have mislaid the slip of paper which gave the dimensions of the bail. We cannot go on until we have those dimensions. Do you remember the figures?"

Poor Marian racked her brain. Not one measurement could she call to mind.

"I'll ask my brother over the long-distance," she told the foreman. But even as she spoke, she knew that there was no hope of reaching Roderick. All the long-distance wires were down.

"And not one human being in all Saint Louis who can tell me the size of that bail!" she groaned. "Oh, why didn't I measure it with my own tape-measure—and then learn the figures by heart! Yet—I do wonder! Would Commodore McCloskey know? He has been at the camp so often, and he knows everything about our machinery. Let's see."

Presently Commodore McCloskey's friendly voice rang over the wire.

"Well, sure 'tis good luck that ye caught me at the dock, Miss Marian. The Lucy is just startin' up-river. Two minutes more and I'd have gone aboard. So ye've lost the bail dimensions? Well, well, don't talk so panicky-like. I'll be with ye in two minutes, an' we'll go to the forge together. 'Tis no grand memory I have, but I can give them a workin' idea."

"Oh, if you only will, commodore! But the Lucy! How can you be spared?"

"Hoot, toot. The Lucy can wait while I go shoppin' with you. Yes, she has a time schedule, I know well. But, in high wather, whoever expects a Mississippi packet to be on time? Or in low wather, either, for that matter. I'll come to ye at once."

The commodore was as good as his word. Soon he and Marian reached the forge works. There his shrewd observation and his wise old memory suggested dimensions which proved later to be correct in every detail. Moreover, he insisted upon staying with Marian till the bail should be welded. Then, under his sharp eyes, it was loaded safely on the Grafton train. As he escorted Marian elegantly into the passenger coach, she ventured, between her exclamations of gratitude, to reprove him very gently.

"You have been too good to me, commodore. But when I think of the poor deserted Lucy! And the captain—what will he say?"

"He'll say a-plenty." The little commodore smiled serenely. "'Tis an unchivalrous set the steam-boat owners are, nowadays. If he were half as obligin' as the old captains used to be in the good days before the war, he'd be happy to wait over twenty-four hours, if need be, to serve a lady. But nowadays 'tis only time, time that counts. Sure, he's grieved to the heart if we make a triflin' loss, like six hours, say, in our schedule."

"And I'm not thanking you for myself alone," Marian went on, flushing. "It is for Rod, too. You don't know how much it means to me to be able to help him, even in this one small way."

Then the little commodore bent close to her. His shrewd little eyes gleamed.

"Don't I know, sure? An' by that token I'm proud of this day, and twice proud of the chance that's led me to share it. For, sure, I've always said it—the time would certain come when you—when you'd wake up. Mind my word, Miss Marian. Don't ye forget! Don't ye let go—and go to sleep again."

The train jarred into motion. His knotted little hand gripped hers. Then he was off and away.

"The dear little, queer little commodore!" Marian looked after him, her eyes a bit shadowy. "Though what could he mean! 'Now you've waked up.' I do wonder!"

Yet her wonder was half pretended. A hot flush burned in her cheek as she sat thinking of his words.

"Well, I'm glad, too, that I've 'waked up,' although I wish that something had happened to stir me earlier."

The train crept on through the flooded country. It was past eight o'clock when they reached Grafton. Marian hurried from the coach and watched anxiously while two baggagemen hoisted the heavy bail from the car.

"Well, my share is done," she said to herself. "That precious bail is here, safe and sound. But where is Mulcahy? And the launch? Rod said that he would not fail to be here by train time."

The train pulled out. From the dim-lit station the ticket agent called to her.

"You're expecting your launch, Miss Hallowell? There has been no boat down to-day."

"But my brother promised to send the launch," stammered Marian. "Surely they knew I was coming to-night!"

Then, in a flash of recollection, she heard Roderick's voice:

"And Mulcahy will meet you on the eight-o'clock train."

"Rod meant the train that leaves Saint Louis at eight in the morning! Not this afternoon train. How could I make such a blunder! He does not look for me to reach Grafton till to-morrow."

She looked at the huge, heavy bail.

"If that bail could reach camp to-night, they could ship it up and start to cutting immediately. It would mean seven or eight hours more of working time. But how to take it there!"

"There's a man yonder who owns a gasolene-launch," ventured the agent. "It's a crazy, battered tub, but maybe——"

Marian looked out at the night: the black, sullen river; the ranks of willows swaying in the heavy wind; the thunder that told of approaching storm.

"Call that man over, please. Yes, I shall risk the trip up-river. That bail shall reach camp to-night."

CHAPTER XII
PARTNERS AND VICTORIES

"What time is it, miss?"

Marian put down the gallon tin with which she had bailed steadily, and looked at her watch.

"Almost midnight."

"Only midnight!"

The steersman gave a weary yawn and turned back to his wheel. Inwardly Marian echoed his discouraged word. It seemed to her that she had crouched for years in the stern of the crazy little motor-boat. Rain and spray had drenched her to the skin. She ached in every half-frozen bone. Yet she sat, wide awake and alert, watching her pilot keenly.

He was a poor helmsman, she thought. However, an expert would have found trouble in taking an overloaded launch up-stream against that swollen current and in pitch darkness. Worse, the weight of the heavy dredge-bail weighed the launch down almost to water level. Every tiny wave splashed over the gunwale. Marian bailed on mechanically.

She had had hard work to bribe the owner to risk the trip up-stream. The men at Grafton had warned her, moreover, that she was running a narrow chance of swamping the launch, and thus of losing her precious piece of machinery, to say nothing of the danger to her own life. But all Marian's old timidity had fled, forgotten. Nothing else mattered if just she might serve her brother in his supreme need.

Through these four dreary hours the old commodore's quaint, frank words had echoed in her mind. And the commodore had been right, she owned, with a quiver of shame. Always, since their mud-pie days, Rod had done his part by her in full measure, generously, lovingly. Never, until these last days, had she even realized what doing her own part by Roderick might mean.

"Although I have been slower than my blessed old Slow-Coach himself in realizing what my life ought to count for. Well, as the commodore said, I have waked up at last. And mind this, Marian Hallowell! You stay awake! Never, never let me catch you dozing off again!"

"There's the camp light yonder," the steersman spoke at last, with a sigh of satisfaction.

Marian peered ahead through the cold, blinding mist. Away up-stream shone a feeble glimmer, then a second light; a third.

"Good! And—there are the dredge search-lights! Only a minute more and we'll be there."

Only a minute it seemed till the launch wheezed up to the landing and swung with a thud against the posts. Marian stumbled ashore.

"Mulcahy!" she called to the dark figure standing on the dredge deck. "Send two men to unload the bail for us."

"Marian Hallowell! Where under the shining sun did you come from?" Roderick leaped from the deck to the shore and confronted his sister. Then, in his horrified surprise at her daring risk, he pounced upon her and administered a scolding of such vigor that it fairly made her gasp.

"Of all the outrageous, reckless——"

"There, there, Rod! Look!"

Still breathing threatenings and slaughter, Roderick turned. Then he saw the huge new bail which the men were hoisting ashore.

"So that's what it all means! That's why you came up on the early train! You brought that bail yourself, all the way. You risked your life in that groggy little boat! All on purpose to help us out! Marian Hallowell, I'd like to shake you hard. And for two cents I'd kiss you right here and now. You—you peach!"

Burford, awakened by the launch whistle, was hurrying down the bank. Reaching the landing his eye fell on the precious new bail.

Utterly silent, he stared at it for a long rapt minute. Then, rubbing his sleepy eyes, he turned to Marian and Rod with a grin that fairly lighted up the dock.

"Now," he said, with slow exultation, "now—we've got our chance to win."

And win they did.

True, the water had already risen close to the dreaded three-foot danger-mark. True, neither of the boys had had half a dozen hours of sleep in three days. As for the laborers, they were fagged and overworked to the limit of their endurance. But not one of these things counted. Not a grumbling word was spoken. This was their company's one chance. Not a man held back from seizing that chance and making good. Not a man but felt himself one with the company, a living vital element of that splendid struggling whole.

Marian and Sally Lou stood on the shore watching the dredge as the great dipper crunched its way through the last submerged barrier. The canal rolled bank full. Little waves swashed over the platform on which they stood. Pools of seep-water already gathered behind the mud embankment, which was crumbling into miry avalanches with every sweep of rising water against it. Not by any chance could the levee stand another hour. But even as the dredge cut that narrow passage, the heavy overflow boiled outward into the river beyond. Minute by minute the rough surface of the canal was sinking before their watching eyes. Now it had fallen from six inches above to high-water mark; now to three inches below; now to mid-stage—and safety.

As the freed stream rolled out into the river, a great cheer rose from the laborers crowded alongshore. Roderick and Burford stayed aboard the dredge until it was warped alongside the dock and safely moored. Then they crossed to land and joined the girls. Neither of the boys spoke one word. They did not seem to hear the shouts and cheers behind them. There was no glow of success on their sober faces. Perhaps their relief was so great that they were a little stunned before its wonder. Victory was theirs; but victory won in the face of so great a danger that they could not yield and feel assured of their escape.

"We cannot reach head-quarters on the telephone, of course. But, by hook or crook, one of you boys must get a despatch through to Mr. Breckenridge. Think of being able to tell him that you have deepened the canal straight through to the river, so that the whole lower half of the district is safe from overflow! And that you have moved all these costly, treacherous machines down-stream without one serious accident, without so much as a broken bolt! It is too good to be true."

"I'll take a launch and sprint down to Grafton and wire our report from there," said Burford. His tense face relaxed; he broke into a delighted chuckle. "Think of it: this once I can actually enjoy sending in my report to head-quarters! I'd like to write it out instead of wiring it. I'd put red-ink curlycues and scroll-work dewdabs all over the page. Think, Hallowell, you solemn wooden Indian! The crest of this flood is only two hours away. By noon the highest level will reach our canal. But it can't flood our district for us, for—for we got there first!"

His rosy face one glow of contentment, he started toward the pier. But as he was about to step aboard the duty-launch, Roderick hailed him sharply.

"Wait, Burford. Somebody is coming up the big ditch. A large gray launch, with a little dark-blue flag."

"What!"

Burford sprang back. He shaded his eyes and looked down the canal. Then, to Rod's amazement, he sat down on a pile of two-by-fours and rocked to and fro.

"Whatever ails you, Burford?"

"Whatever ails me, indeed!" Burford choked it out. His ears were scarlet. His eyes were fairly popping from his head with delight. "Oh, I reckon I won't bother to send that report to head-quarters, after all. I'll just let the whole thing slide."

Rod gaped at him.

"Have you lost your last wit, Ned?"

"Not quite. I'm going to give my report to my superior officer by word of mouth. That big gray power-boat is one of our own company's launches. That small blue flag is the company ensign. And that big gray man standing 'midships is—Breckenridge! Breck the Great, his very self."

"Breckenridge!"

"Breckenridge. All there, too—every splendid inch of him. Talk about luck! Our levee is saved. Our dredges are all anchored, right yonder, trim as a gimlet. Our schedule is put through up to the minute. And here, precisely on the psychological moment, comes our chief on his tour of inspection. Can you beat that?"

Roderick merely stared down the canal.

Close behind the launch pilot, scanning the bank intently as they steamed by, towered a broad-shouldered, heavily built man, gray-headed, yet powerful and alert in every movement. He was well splashed with mud; his broad, heavily featured face was colorless with fatigue. Yet as he stood there, with his big tense body, his tired, eager face, he seemed like some magnificent natural force imprisoned in human flesh.

"Isn't he sumptuous, though?" said Burford, under his breath. "Look at those shoulders! What a half-back he would make!"

"Half-back? Why, he could make the All-American," Rod whispered back. His eyes were glued to that tall approaching figure. His heart was pounding in his breast. So this was Breckenridge the Great, his hero! And, marvel of marvels, he looked the hero of all Rod's farthest dreams.

Breckenridge stepped from the launch and shook hands heartily with the radiant and stammering Burford. He looked at Roderick with steady dark eyes. He hardly spoke in reply to Burford's introduction. But the grip of his big, muscular hand was warmly cordial.

He asked a few brief questions. Then he listened, his heavy head bent, his heavy-lidded eyes half closed, to Burford's eager account of their struggles and their triumphs. Almost without speaking he clambered into the launch again and motioned the boys to follow.

For four consecutive hours the three went up and down the rough miry channels. Roderick steered the launch. Burford answered Breckenridge's occasional questions. Breckenridge stood, field-glass in hand, sweeping first one bank, then another with tireless eyes. He made almost no comment on Burford's explanations; but the slow occasional nod of his massive head was eloquent.

Finally they retraced the last lateral and brought the launch up to the main landing.

"No, I'll not stop to dine with you, much as I should enjoy it. I must be getting on to the next contract. They're seeing heavy weather too." Breckenridge stood up, stretching his big, cramped body. As he stood there, brushing the clay from his coat, he seemed to loom.

"I have nothing much to say to you fellows," he went on in his quiet, casual voice, "only to remark that you must have worked like Trojans. You have made a far larger yardage record than we had dared to expect. You've put brains into your work, too. Can't say I'm surprised at your success, by the way. I was pretty certain from what Crosby said that you two would swing this contract, all right. Crosby and I had a talk in Chicago a week or so ago. We were in Tech together. Naturally he's quite a pal of mine, though nowadays we're opponents in a business way. But his opinion weighs heavily with me. And now that I have gone over the ground for myself, I am inclined to think that Crosby rather—well, that he underestimated your services to the company." Again his big head bent with that queer slow nod. For a moment Breck himself, the real man, alert, just, keenly understanding, flashed a glance from behind that heavy mask of splendid, impassive flesh. "Later you will probably receive a more detailed explanation of my opinion on your work. Good luck to you both, and good-by."

He stepped into the launch. The powerful boat dashed away down the rough yellow canal.

The boys stood and looked after him. Burford was wildly exultant. But Roderick was silent. A curious, deep satisfaction lighted his stolid, boyish face. Every word that Breckenridge had spoken was tingling in his blood. At last he had met his hero face to face, man to man. And his hero had proven all that heart could ask.

"I wish I knew what he meant by saying that you'd hear further as to his opinion on your work," pondered Marian.

Just two days later her wish was gratified.

It was a rainy, dreary day. Rod had spent the morning up the laterals and had come home dripping. Marian was trying to dry his soaked clothes before the smoky little oil-stove, but without much success. Just before noon she heard a welcome whistle. She ran down the bank to meet the rural delivery-man in his little spider-launch. The roads were long since impassable; the mail and all the camp supplies must come by water.

"Stacks of letters, Rod. A fat official one for the Burfords and a still fatter, more official one for you. Do read it and tell me your news."

"All right, Sis." Rod pushed aside his blueprints and set to opening his mail.

Marian looked over her own letters. They were all of a sort: pleasant, affectionate notes from her friends at home. All, with one accord, besought her to hurry back to college for commencement. All earnestly pitied her for the tedious weeks that she was spending "in that rough, dreadful western country."

Marian's eyes twinkled as she read. At the bottom of the pile lay a note from her good friend Isabel, begging her for the twentieth time to spend August with her in her beautiful home at Beverly Farms.

Marian read that letter twice. Her dark brows narrowed.

Before her eyes gleamed Isabel's home, the great beautiful house, set on a terraced emerald-green hill. Behind it, dark, cool, mysterious, lay the pine woods; before it flashed and gleamed the sea. She could see its wide, stately rooms, its soft-hued, luxurious furnishings. She could feel the atmosphere of quiet contentment, of assured ease, which was to Isabel and her mother the very air they breathed.

Then she looked around her.

Here she sat in a tiny canvas shack with a rough board floor. She looked at its mended chairs, its rag-tag rug, and stringy curtains; Rod's wet clothes, dripping before the little oil-stove; Rod's battered desk, heaped with papers and blue-prints, a mass of accumulated work. Then she looked through the tent-flap. Neither blue ocean nor deep, still forest met her eyes. Only a narrow, muddy ditch; a row of wind-torn willows; a dark, swollen river, hurrying on beneath a dark, sinister sky.

An exclamation from Rod startled her. He stooped to her, his tired face burning. With unsteady fingers he put a letter into her hand.

"Read that, Sis. No, I'll not read it aloud to you. Look at it with your own eyes."

Silent, wide-eyed, Marian read this amazing document. Then, with a cry of surprise and delight, she turned to her brother. But before she could speak, a storm of eager feet dashed up the cabin steps. In burst Sally Lou and Ned, headlong. Ned, breathless with excitement, waved a long official envelope. But Sally Lou, close at his heels with Thomas Tucker crowing on her arm, poured out the wild tale.

"Oh, Marian! Oh, Roderick! Oh, it's too good and grand and glorious to be true! We're going home, home, straight back to Virginia!"

"Yes, we're going home, we're fired," puffed Ned, as Sally Lou paused for breath. He sank down on the bench with a sigh of ecstasy. "Don't look so dazed, Hallowell. There is more news coming. We're ordered off this contract. But we're not ordered out of the Breckenridge Engineering Company. Not quite yet. Instead, I'm directed to report on the Dismal Swamp Canal the first of the month. My position will be practically the same as the one that I'm now holding. But we can live at home. At home, I say! Right in Norfolk, right in the midst of all Sally Lou's own home-folks, right around the corner from my own father's house. Won't we have a glorious year of it! And won't Edward Junior and Thomas Tucker be good and spoiled, though!"

"We're so happy we can't even say it to each other!" Sally Lou sat down suddenly, hiding her April face in Thomas Tucker's small pinafore. "It took Mammy Easter to express our feelings for us. 'Land, honey,' said she, 'I cert'n'y am thankful that we's goin' back to civilization. I want to climb on a real street-car again. I want to ride in an elevator. I don't care if I never sets foot in one of dem slippery little launches again, long's I live. But most of all I want to tote dese lambs out of this swamp and on to de dry land before dey grows up plumb web-footed.'"

In the midst of the laugh that followed, a launch whistled from down the canal.

"There's Mulcahy now. Hurry, Ned. Go down to Grafton and send your telegram to head-quarters. Good-by, folks! Come over to the martin-box to-night and we'll hold one last celebration."

Sally Lou tossed her baby to her shoulder. Away she sped beside her husband. Marian looked after the gay, hurrying figures. Then, still bewildered, she turned to Roderick.

"Well! What will happen next! Ned and Sally Lou ordered to Virginia; you promoted—it takes my breath away! But, Rod!" Her voice rose with a startled note. She looked up keenly at her brother's grave face. "You—you dear, cold-blooded old slow-coach! How can you look so pensive and perplexed? Of all the splendid, splendid news! How could you keep still and not tell the Burfords? How can you keep still now? If I wasn't so tired, I'd dance a jig right here on your desk!"

"I ought to be dancing jigs myself," Roderick answered. "I don't half deserve this magnificent chance, I know that. But I—I don't know what to say. I'm facing a dead wall."

"Rod, what do you mean? Of course you will accept this promotion. You must. There can't be any question!" Marian was on her knees by his chair now, clasping his cold hands in her own. Her voice rang sharp with angry affection. "Don't halt and fumble so, brother! Don't you remember, three months ago, how you fretted and hesitated about taking the position that you are holding to-day? See how you have succeeded in it! Yet look at you! To-day you are wavering and boggling and hanging back, just as you did then."

"I'm hanging back, yes. But not for the same reason." Roderick looked down at her with dark, troubled eyes. "That time, I hesitated to accept on your account. This time, I'm hesitating on my own."

"Why, Roderick Hallowell! You are not afraid of hard work, nor of taking chances, either. Rod, tell me this minute. Are you ill? What is it, dear?"

"Nonsense. I'm perfectly well. But I am tired out. I don't know how to tell you what I mean. So tired that I dread the mere thought of going on a new contract, and taking charge of a new crew, and breaking myself in to a new piece of work. Yes, it does sound cowardly. But I cannot see my way clear. I don't believe I dare take it up."

Marian looked at him closely.

"Sleep on this, Rod. A night's rest will give you a different light on the matter."

"A night's rest won't make any difference in the facts, Sis. The position is too complicated for a greenhorn like me. I believe I could assemble the plant, all right. And I think I could handle the laborers. But the endless outside detail is what I'm afraid of. That, and the responsibility, too. For instance, on a contract like this one in Iowa, the engineers must act as paymasters, each for his division. That means, reckon the men's time daily; make out their checks; handle their wages for them; and so on. Then there are my tabulated reports for the head office. Then my supplies. You have seen with your own eyes how much time and work just the buying of coal and machinery can demand. Then there would be a thousand smaller matters to look after. Taking it all in all, I don't want to make a try at this offer, then fail. So the sensible thing to do is, meekly to ask the company for a less impressive post."

"All that you would need for the extra work that you describe would be a competent book-keeper, Rod."

"Exactly!" Rod laughed shortly. "But a 'competent' book-keeper is the last employé that one can find for such hard, isolated work as this. What I need is not just a man to add columns for me. I need another brain, an extra pair of hands. I need the sort of first-aid that you have been giving me all these weeks, Sis. That's the sort of help that you can't buy for love nor money. That's all."