Part 13 (1/2)

”Well,” said Jake, with a critical glance, ”they're all wrong. Now you've got good shoulders, your figure's well balanced, and I like the way you hold your head, but your tailor has spoiled every prominent line. I'll show you some time when I model you in clay.” He paused and grinned. ”I guess the Roman sentinel pose would suit you best, as I noted it when you stood on the mole waiting for me, determined to do your duty at any cost.

Besides, there is something of the soldier about you.”

”I wish you'd stop rotting,” said d.i.c.k with a touch of awkwardness, though he saw that Jake knew nothing about his leaving the army. ”Was it your father's notion that you should be an engineer?”

”He thinks so,” Jake answered, grinning. ”My opinion is that you have to thank my sister Ida for the job of looking after me. She made this her business until I went to Yale, when, of course, she lost control. Ida has a weakness for managing people, for their good, but you ought to take it as a delicate compliment that she pa.s.sed me on to you.”

”After all, Miss Fuller's age must be nearly the same as mine,” d.i.c.k remarked.

”I see what you mean, but in some respects she's much older. In fact, I guess I could give you a year or two myself. But it seems to me you've kind of wilted since we began to talk. You've gone slack and your eyes look heavy. Say, I'm sorry if I've made you tired.”

”I don't think you had much to do with it,” said d.i.c.k. ”My head aches and I've a s.h.i.+very feeling that came on about this time last night. A touch of malarial fever, perhaps; they get it now and then in the town, though we ought to be free from it on the hill. Anyhow, if you don't mind, I'll get off to bed.”

He went away, and Jake looked about the veranda and the room that opened on to it. There was a canvas chair or two, a folding table, a large drawing board on a trestle frame, and two cheap, tin lamps. It was obvious that d.i.c.k thought of nothing much except his work and had a Spartan disregard for comfort.

”A good sort, but it's concrete first and last with him,” Jake remarked.

”Guess I've got to start by making this shack fit for a white man to live in.”

d.i.c.k pa.s.sed a restless night, but felt better when he began his work on the dam next morning, though he did not touch the small hard roll and black coffee his colored steward had put ready for him. The air was fresh, the jungle that rolled down the hill glittered with dew, and the rays of the red sun had, so far, only a pleasant warmth. Cranes were rattling, locomotives snorted as they moved the ponderous concrete blocks and hauled away loads of earth, and a crowd of picturesque figures were busy about the dam. Some wore dirty white cotton and ragged crimson sashes; the dark limbs of others projected from garments of vivid color.

d.i.c.k drove the men as hard as he was able. They worked well, chattering and laughing, in the early morning, and there was much to be done, because Oliva's dismissal had made a difference.

The men flagged, as the sun got higher, and at length d.i.c.k sat down in the thin shade of a tree. The light was now intense, the curving dam gleamed a dazzling pearly-gray through a quivering radiance, and the water that had gathered behind it shone like molten silver. One could imagine that the pools reflected heat as well as light. d.i.c.k's eyes ached, and for a few minutes he let them rest upon the glossy, green jungle, and the belts of cultivation down the hill.

Then he roused himself, because he must watch what was going on. The great blocks must be properly fitted into place, and one could not trust the dusky laborers to use the care that was needed; besides, they were getting slack, and the fresh blocks the locomotives brought would soon begin to acc.u.mulate. Since this would mean extra handling and consequent expense, the track must be kept clear. Still, d.i.c.k wished noon would come, for his head ached badly and he felt the heat as he had not felt it before.

It was hard to force himself to begin again after the short mid-day rest, but he became a little more vigorous as the sun sank and the shadow of the black cordillera lengthened across the valley. After dinner, when he lounged on the veranda, the headache and la.s.situde returned, and he listened to Jake's talk vacantly and soon went to bed. He knew he was not well, but while malarial fever was not unusual in the neighborhood people seldom took it in a virulent form, and as there was a good doctor at Santa Brigida he determined to consult him when he had occasion to visit the town. As it happened, a crane broke next day, and when evening came he set off to inquire if new castings could be made for it in the Spanish foundry. While he waited for an engine to take him down the line, Jake announced his intention of coming.

”I've never been round a Spanish town,” he said.

”You're not going round a Spanish town now, if I can prevent it,” d.i.c.k rejoined. ”However, I suppose I can't order you off your father's locomotive.”

Jake smiled. ”You can resent my taking the line you hint at when I've done so, but I guess one must make allowances. You're getting the fever badly, partner.”

”It's the heat,” d.i.c.k answered in an apologetic tone. ”Anyhow, Santa Brigida's a dirty, uninteresting place.”

”I expect your ideas of what's interesting are different from mine.

Concrete's all right in the daytime, though you can have too much of it then, but you want to please your eye and relax your brain at night.”

”I was afraid of something of the kind. But here's the locomotive. Get up, if you're coming.”

d.i.c.k was silent as the engine jolted down the track, for he was feverish and his companion's talk irritated him. Besides, he had promised Ida Fuller to take care of the lad and knew something of the license that ruled in the city. Jake seemed to claim the supposit.i.tious privileges of the artistic temperament, and there were wine-shops, gamblers, pretty Creole girls with easy manners, and ragged desperados who carried knives, in Santa Brigida. In fact, it offered too many opportunities for romantic adventures. In consequence, d.i.c.k went to the Hotel Magellan, which they reached after walking from the end of the line, and took Jake into the bar.

”You had better stop here; I won't be longer than I can help,” he said.

”They'll make you a rather nice iced drink of Canary _tinto_.”

”Just so,” Jake replied. ”_Tinto's_ a thin, sour claret, isn't it? In New York not long ago you could get iced b.u.t.termilk. Can't say I was fond of it, but I reckon it's as exhilarating as the other stuff.”

d.i.c.k left him with some misgivings and went about his business. It was eight o'clock in the evening and the foundry would be closed, but he knew where the manager lived and went to his house, which was situated in the older part of the city. He had not taken Jake because he had to pa.s.s some of the less reputable cafes and gambling dens and thought it undesirable that the lad should know where they were. The foundry manager was not at home, but a languis.h.i.+ng young woman with a thickly powdered face, who called her mother before she conferred with d.i.c.k, told him where Don Tomas had gone, and d.i.c.k set off again in search of the cafe she named.