Part 9 (1/2)

d.i.c.k colored, and wondered whether he had been given a hint, for Bethune was his superior and a man of ability.

”He doesn't object, sir.”

”That's good,” Fuller replied with a twinkle. ”Still, if you hustle him too much, you'll make him tired.”

d.i.c.k did not smile, because he did not know how far it was wise to go, but he suspected that Bethune had been tired before he came to the dam.

The latter was generally marked by an air of languid indifference, and while his work was well done he seldom exceeded his duty.

Next evening d.i.c.k went to see Bethune and found him lying in a hammock hung between the posts of the veranda of his galvanized iron hut. A syphon and a tall gla.s.s filled with wine in which a lump of ice floated, stood on a table within his reach, and an open book lay upside down upon the floor. He wore white duck trousers, a green s.h.i.+rt of fine material, and a red sash very neatly wound round his waist. His face was sunburned, but the features were delicately cut and his hands, which hung over the edge of the hammock, were well cared for.

”Mix yourself a drink,” he said to d.i.c.k. ”There's a gla.s.s and some ice in the bureau inside. Anyhow my steward boy put some there.”

d.i.c.k, who went into the hut, came back with a grin. ”There's a bit of wet blanket, but the ice has gone. It seems to have run into your papers.”

”They'll dry,” Bethune said tranquilly. ”You had better put some of the _gaseosa_ in the wine; it's sour Spanish _tinto_. Then if you like to pick up the book, I'll read you some Francois Villon. There was red blood in that fellow and it's a pity he's dead. You get into touch with him better beside the Spanish Main than you can in New York.”

”I never heard of him, and perhaps I ought to explain----”

”What you came for? Then go ahead and ease your mind. It's business first with you.”

”It occurred to me that I had perhaps taken too much upon myself now and then. You are my chief, of course, and I don't want to look pus.h.i.+ng.”

”That shows good taste,” Bethune remarked. ”But how are you going to get over the difficulty that you _are_ what you call pus.h.i.+ng? Anyhow, I'm surprised it did occur to you.”

”To tell the truth, it was something Fuller said----”

”So I imagined! Well, when you go too far I'll pull you up, but we needn't bother about it in the meantime. You were obviously born a hustler, but you have an ingenuousness that disarms resentment. In fact, you quite upset our views of the British character.”

”Then the feeling's mutual,” d.i.c.k rejoined with a grin. ”You don't harmonize with what I've seen of Americans.”

”Ours is a big country and we've room for different types; but I come from Georgia and we haven't all learned to hustle yet in the South.

That's probably why I'm here, when I could have had a much better paid job.”

d.i.c.k did not doubt this, because he had seen something of the other's mathematical powers. He was not a fool at figures himself, but Bethune could solve by a flash of genius problems that cost him laborious calculation. It was strange that such a man should be content to make a very modest use of his talents.

”I suppose you have met Miss Fuller,” Bethune resumed.

”Yes,” said d.i.c.k. ”She made things pleasant for me when I first went to the tent. I like her very much.”

”Miss Fuller has most of the New England virtues, including a stern sense of her responsibility. I expect you don't know if she shares her father's good opinion of yourself.”

”I don't know what Fuller's opinion is,” d.i.c.k replied awkwardly.

Bethune laughed. ”Well, he's given you a good job. But why I asked was this: if Miss Fuller's quite satisfied about you, she'll probably put her maverick brother in your charge. She came here not long ago with the object of finding out if I was suited for the post, and I imagined learned something about me in a quiet way. It was a relief when she obviously decided that I wasn't the proper man. The girl has intelligence. If she had asked me, I could have recommended you.”

”Do you know much about her brother?”

”I've learned something. The lad's a breakaway from the sober Fuller type; and I think his views of life rather agree with mine. However, perhaps we had better let Miss Fuller tell you what she thinks fit. And now would you like some Francois Villon?”