Part 62 (1/2)
Ashton, attired in a lounging-robe of scarlet silk, was half reclining in an easy chair. The big desk beside him was littered with engineering journals, reports, and blueprints of bridge plans, topped with detail drawings in ink of the long central span. The Resident Engineer was not studying the plans. He was reading a French novel of the variety seldom translated.
At Blake's entrance, he looked up, his delicate high-arched eyebrows gathered in a frown of annoyance. Almost in the same moment he recognized the intruder, and started to his feet in open alarm.
”How!--why!” he stammered. ”You here? I thought you--that after--”
”Too bad, eh?” bantered Blake. ”But you mustn't blame yourself. You did your best. But accidents will happen.”
”Then you're--you're not--Yet you look--”
”Appearances often deceive,” quoted Blake lightly. ”You gave me a great start-off--had me going South. So I went.”
”Going South?”
”Yes. But that's all by-the-bye, as my friend, the Right Honorable the Earl of Avondale, would say. I'm here now for you to enter my acceptance of the standing offer of the a.s.sistant Engineers.h.i.+p.”
”You--you agree to take it--under me?” cried Ashton in astonishment.
”Why not?” asked Blake with well-feigned surprise.
”Why, of course if--You see, it's--it's rather unexpected,” Ashton sought to explain as he regained a.s.surance. ”Old Griffith wrote me about the way you had put through the Zariba Dam. After that I never dreamed you'd accept any position as a.s.sistant.”
”Well, I like to please Grif,” was Blake's easy reply. ”He's been worrying because office work uses me up. Nothing suits me better than an outdoor job, and I happened to take a fancy to your bridge the other time I came. It's a good deal like those plans of mine that got mislaid. Of course you can't know that.”
”No, of course not!” a.s.sented Ashton, moistening his lower lip.
”Course not,” repeated Blake. ”So I can't blame you if you find it hard to believe that my plans would have been accepted before you drew yours if they hadn't been mislaid.”
”Then you--no longer accuse Mr. Leslie of--having taken them?” Ashton ventured to ask.
”Couldn't prove it on him, could I? No use _baa-ing_ over spilt milk.
Well, you understand I'm on the job now; I've accepted the offer.”
”Ye-es,” reluctantly admitted Ashton. ”Not that I see the use. There's no need for another engineer.”
”That's no lie. One engineer is enough,” said Blake dryly. ”You sure proved yourself one when you planned this little old cantilever.
However, I'm short of cash. I'll hang around and do what I can. May be able to save you bother by carrying orders out to McGraw or checking over reports for you.”
He picked up the vellum-cloth drawings of the central span and some of the blueprints, and began in a matter-of-fact manner to roll them up.
”Hold on!” sharply interposed Ashton. ”What are you about?”
”I'm going to bunk with McGraw. Thought I'd take these over and try to get in touch with the work.”
”No, you sha'n't! I can't allow you to take those. They're the original drawings. They must not be taken out of my office.”
”Original drawings?” repeated Blake in a tone of perfect innocence.
”Excuse me. I took them for copies.”
”C-copies!” stuttered Ashton, turning white even to his lips.