Adventures in Many Lands Part 8

"And I've been here ten minutes," was the answer. "The man has either gone away or gone to sleep. Hadn't we better get across some other way?

There is a boat a few yards down. We might borrow it and scull ourselves across, that is, if you think----"

"Good idea!" exclaimed Trevannion. Then he hesitated. "You--you are not going to the wharf, are you?" he asked.

"Yes--for the first time in my life."

"Is your name Garstin?"

"That's it. Perhaps you can tell me----"

"I'm Trevannion," briefly. "I didn't expect you quite so soon. Er--I'm glad to meet you."

His eyes went to the heavy coat in which the lad--he was little more--was encased, to the fashionable bowler that contrasted with his own tweed cap, to the umbrella that protected the bowler from the dripping rain--ay, even to the comforter. It was as he had feared.

Garstin was an office-desk weakling, and a mere boy into the bargain.

The Works Committee had added insult to the injury they did him.

"Oh, you're Mr. Trevannion," said the "insult," shyly holding out a gloved right hand. Trevannion took it limply and quickly let it drop.

"Come on," he said. "We will get across first and talk afterwards."

The gruffness of his tone did not tend to encourage expansiveness on the other's part, and little more was said whilst they unmoored the boat and rowed across, so the engineer had good opportunity for taking stock of his companion. The water was rough, and he judged from the clumsy way in which Garstin handled his oar and his apparent powerlessness to impart vigour to the stroke that muscular development had not formed part of his education. Trevannion stood six-foot-one in his stockings, and his frame was well knit with muscles that were supple as well as strong; naturally, he believed that physical fitness was essential to a good engineer, especially to an engineer in charge of a rather rough crew of workmen. He resolved by-and-by to recommend a course of Sandow to the new hand.

"Mind how you get out," he said, when the boat b.u.mped against the slimy ladder that did duty for a stairway. "The steps are greasy, and those togs of yours are hardly suited to this job."

Garstin flushed but made no remark, and Trevannion flattered himself that the hint would not be wasted. He had already decided that the new engineer would have to be taught many things. This was Lesson No. 1.

Hardly had they scrambled on to the wharf when Trevannion's ganger came up.

"'Morning, sir. Can I speak to you a moment? There has been trouble between O'Donnell and Peters. O'Donnell was drunk--leastways so Peters says. Any'ow they got fighting and mauled each other pretty severe; in fact Peters is in hospital. Thought you'd better hear of it, sir."

"Quite right," said Trevannion judicially. It was a common enough story on the wharf, and he had heard it before without paying much attention, but now--he glanced at the slight figure beside him, who evidently required as many object-lessons as could be given--and decided that here lay the opportunity for giving Lesson No. 2. "Pay O'Donnell and sack him," he commanded.

"Very good, sir," said the ganger, moving away.

"That's the way we have to treat our fellows here," said Trevannion.

"Summary justice, you know. They're a rough lot. Now come and see the office and the plans."

Whatever Garstin may have thought of these proceedings, he said nothing, but followed submissively along the wharf. Perhaps, without knowing the peculiar authority which had at the contractor's desire been vested in Trevannion, he wondered that any engineer should wield such powers.

However, he had not much time for wondering, or indeed for anything except the task of keeping pace with his nimble, long-legged comrade. He kept stumbling over little heaps of granite and sand, over rails, along which the travelling cranes moved ponderously, over bits of tarpaulin and old iron instruments, over every object, in fact, that Trevannion avoided with such apparent ease.

Garstin was rather a distressful youth by the time the shanty was reached, for the pace had been hot, and he had been impeded by the fatal greatcoat and m.u.f.fler. After divesting himself of these he stood still and breathed hard in front of a cheerful c.o.ke fire, while Trevannion unrolled the plans and pinned them to the long, sloping desk occupying one side of the room.

When all was ready the engineer began to explain the plans in detail, elaborating the explanation with simpler explanation, getting through the sections one by one with slow precision, repeating his elucidation of black lines, red lines, and green lines, of the length, breadth, and numbers of the piles, of the soil, subsoil, and sub-subsoil, that received them; all this in the manner of one who is instructing a child in the rudiments of engineering science, for he had made up his mind that Garstin would want a lot of instructing.

Garstin seemed a patient listener, and Trevannion had almost begun to enjoy himself, when the former suddenly laid his finger on a certain spot and asked a question connected with water-pressure and the strength of resisting force. Trevannion was surprised into returning what he thought was the correct answer. He was still more surprised when the other proceeded to prove by figures that that answer was incontestably incorrect.

This was the beginning. Garstin quickly found more questions to put on other points, more criticisms of Trevannion's replies. The latter at first made desperate efforts to crush him by a.s.suming the calm superiority of the older hand. But with Garstin's logic it was useless to be calm. It was worse than useless to try to be superior. The intruder stuck to his guns with respectful pertinacity. Perhaps the fire had warmed his brain into unwonted activity; Trevannion found himself wondering whether this was so, or whether it was a normal state--the last thought was horrible!

At any rate, there was no doubt that within these four stuffy walls Garstin was in his element. Trevannion clearly was not. In half an hour his treasured theories had been picked to pieces and his stock of argument was exhausted, whilst his rival appeared as fresh as the woodwork.

But the climax was reached when Section D came up for discussion. Things had not gone well with Section D in practice. Trevannion incautiously admitted as much when he said that Section D represented a point on the wharf where the river persistently--more persistently than at other points--forced its way into the cavity intended for good concrete.

Garstin promptly demonstrated the probable reason why. This was too much. Trevannion shut up the demonstration by opening the door.

"Phew!" he said. "Let's go out and get a little fresh air. We'll have a look at the section itself."

He stepped out, followed by the other--meekly.

It was still raining. Under the leaden sky the works looked more dismal than ever. Lakes of water lay where there had been pools; rails and machinery glistened as if they had been carefully oiled. A thick light-brown river raced past. The echoing wind and the hoa.r.s.e murmur of the gang at work on Section D mingled with the groaning and clattering of the cranes. Garstin missed the warmth of the fire and shivered; he had forgotten his overcoat; and he experienced only the mildest curiosity in the surroundings. Trevannion walked rapidly and in silence.

He was thinking mainly of how he could get his own back from this usurper.

They came to the edge of Section D. Below them yawned a huge pit with uneven walls sheer from top to bottom. Fronting them, on the river side, solid piles went down into an abyss that ended in black water; these were a barrier--a support to the wedge of earth that the mighty river pressed against their backs. From the land side to the tops of the piles stretched transverse beams, two and three yards apart; more beams lower down, const.i.tuting stays against the piles buckling; the whole a giant scaffolding embedded in the bowels of the earth. A few rough blocks of concrete peeped from the water below. Fountains spurted from between the piles and splashed into the basin.

Trevannion looked at the fountains and frowned. There would be work for the pumps very shortly; there was always too much work for the pumps in Section D, and so too little time and opportunity for more progressive labour. Then, disregarding the obviously slippery state of the transverse beams, he stepped on to one of them, and stood poised for a moment over sixty feet of hungry voidness.

"Come over to the other side," he said to Garstin. "You cannot see what is going on below from where you are. Why, what----?"

Garstin, after placing one foot on the beam, had drawn back, a leaden pallor showing unmistakably under his skin.

Trevannion stared at him. The laugh, the jeer, that had risen in his heart at this sudden failure of nerve never found expression. There was something in the young fellow's face that spoke of more than a qualm of nervousness. It was a pitiful terror that met Trevannion's eyes--the pleading terror of a dumb, helpless animal before a human tormentor.

For a moment the engineer stood irresolute. Two men, engaged in mixing cement a few yards distant, had laid down their spades, and, having heard Trevannion's invitation to cross the beam, were looking at "the new bloke" in mild wonder as to why he hesitated. A third was slowly trundling a wheelbarrow full of sand towards them. Trevannion took in these details in a flash--and realised their significance. Here was an easy chance of shaming Garstin before the gang, of convicting him of rank and unprofessional cowardice, of getting his own back again from the office-desk theoretician, yet--an uncontrollable impulse of generosity prevented his seizing it. He stepped on to the bank and stood beside the fear-struck figure.

"You _must_ come on," he said in a whisper that was little more than a breath. "Pull yourself together. I'll hold you."

An instant later, and for an instant only, the two stood together on the narrow beam, Garstin a shrinking form, his every limb shaken by something more potent than the gusty wind, his face turned anywhere but downwards. Trevannion did not hold him, but his hand rested rea.s.suringly on the other's quivering arm. For an instant only, and then Garstin was pushed on to the firm bank again and hurried towards the office.

Trevannion talked jerkily as soon as they were out of earshot of the gang. "Sudden attack of funk--rather a bogie place on a slippery day--might happen to anybody--get used to it--dance a jig on top of the king pile one day, and wonder how you could ever have been such a----"

"Coward," finished Garstin quietly.

"No-o, that's not exactly the word," said Trevannion lamely, and waited for explanation or extenuation.

But none came. It was as if the boy was quite aware of the cowardice, and did not wish his companion to consider it anything else.

Trevannion's mind marvelled at the seeming abas.e.m.e.nt.

A few days later Trevannion reported progress to his wife anent the new a.s.sistant, whom for some strange reason he had grown positively to like.

"Wonderfully brainy chap, Garstin. He has helped me no end with Section D--you know, where we have had all the trouble. With luck we shall have it finished in a week or two. At the same time"--with conviction--"he will never make a practical engineer. Wouldn't be any good in an emergency. No nerve--no nerve at all. Seems to go to bits directly he gets outside the office. Can't even look down into the section without holding on to something. If a crane starts anywhere near, it makes him jump, and as to being any good with the gang, why, he daren't speak to one of them. Only this afternoon, when O'Donnell came and bl.u.s.tered----"

"O'Donnell?" said his wife.

"Yes--a man I sacked for being drunk and fighting. He came to the office this afternoon and asked to be taken on again. He said he could get no other job, and his wife and children were starving. I told him that the regulations would not admit of his re-employment; besides, I had reported him as dismissed and filled up the vacancy. Then he started cursing and threatening that he would do for the wharf and for me too, unless I relented. Of course I didn't relent. I turned him out--he was half-drunk. And there--what do you think?--there was Garstin with his hands covering his face, shivering and shaking as if he had seen a ghost.

"'I am sure that fellow means mischief, Mr. Trevannion,' he muttered.

'I'm sure he does--I read it in his eyes. Hadn't you better take him back--just for the sake of his wife?'

"Of course I couldn't--wouldn't. But Garstin's a brainy beggar--oh, wonderfully brainy."