KIT MAKES PROGRESS
For two or three weeks Kit was strenuously, and on the whole happily,
occupied at the forge. When the sun was on the roof the iron shack got
very hot, and sometimes the labor was severe, but Kit was interested
and the pay was good. His trunk, broken by the baggage gang, had
arrived, and in the cool evenings to put on clean clothes and play the
violin for an attentive audience was some relief. Then he liked the
smith. Bill was sternly quiet and admitted he had no use for
politeness. As a rule, when he did talk, his remarks were aggressive,
but he was a skilful workman and asked from his helper nothing he
himself did not undertake.
For all that, Kit sometimes brooded. If he remained until the bridge
was built he would not be rich, and his ambition was not to help a
smith. Moreover, he feared when the frost began the company would pay
him off, and in the North winter work was hard to get. Then he had
promised he would not, for a stipulated time, write to Evelyn. She
would be anxious for him, and since he had work, of a sort, he wanted
her to know.
Sometimes he speculated about Alison. She was at Fairmead, and
although the settlement was not far off, it was on another line. Kit
did not know if she would stay for long, and when he put her on the
car at Winnipeg he felt they said good-bye for good. All the same, he
was sorry. Alison was a first-class pal; but she was gone, and he was
Evelyn’s lover and must concentrate on mending his broken fortunes.
When dusk began to fall one evening, he put up his violin and lighted
his pipe. The men had gone to the bunk-house and all was quiet. Kit
heard the current break against the piers, and in the distance
cow-bells faintly chimed. He thought about the river that ran by the
oaks at Netherhall. Somehow when he pictured Netherhall it was summer
afternoon, and Evelyn and he walked in the shade. The cow-bells,
however, struck a foreign note, and when Kit heard mosquitoes he
frowned.
By and by Austin came along the track. He was an athletic young
fellow, but his look was thoughtful. Kit began to think the Canadians’
habit was to concentrate. None he so far knew was remarkably
light-hearted.
“I heard you play,” said Austin. “You have some talent; but for a
construction camp, was not the music rather good?”
“The boys did not grumble. My notion is, uncultivated people like
better music than some composers think. Anyhow, I risked it. I don’t
know that I have much talent, but two or three Canadians informed me
that I have some gall.”
Austin smiled, for he thought the compliment justified. In a rather
stern country, Kit’s joyous carelessness struck a foreign note. Then
he was independent, and North American democracy cultivates a type.
All the same, Austin noted that when he began to talk Kit got up.
Since work had stopped, Austin did not want the other to acknowledge
him boss, and he sat down and lighted a cigarette.
“Well, Bill wants to keep you, and he’s pretty fastidious about his
helpers. I don’t know what you think about staying; but I don’t know
your proper occupation.”
Kit hesitated. Austin was friendly, but Kit did not want to use his
friendliness. He admitted he was perhaps extravagantly proud.
“When I arrived I was a strolling musician and was glad to fiddle for
my supper,” he said. “So long as Bill thinks me useful, I’m satisfied
to remain.”
“Wheeler, the construction boss, is willing. I expect you know Miss
Forsyth has got a post at Fairmead?”
“I don’t know,” said Kit, and his glance got keen. “In fact, I don’t
altogether see——”
“You may remember the lady who talked to Miss Forsyth at Winnipeg
station? Well, sometimes I go home week-ends to Fairmead, and not long
ago we met Miss Forsyth. She’s clerk at a creamery and was interested
to know you were at the bridge.”
“Fairmead’s on the other line. Do you go to Winnipeg?”
“The conductor’s allowed to stop the cars at Willows, and a flag
station on the other line is not far.”
Kit saw Austin thought him keen to go; in fact, he admitted Austin had
perhaps some grounds to think him Alison’s lover. When Kit stated he
did not know she had got a post, Austin was clearly puzzled.
“Oh, well,” he said, “if I can get leave I’d like to see Miss Forsyth;
but I mustn’t ask for a holiday yet. Anyhow, your stopping for a few
moments at the waiting-room was kind. Before you came along we felt
rather forlorn.”
“Something of the sort was plain. The crowd was a foreign crowd and
you were British. Then we saw your violin-case, and we doubted if you
knew Canada, which for a beginner is a pretty hard country. Well,
Carrie and I were going home, and the contrast was rather marked. I
expect it accounted for our stopping.”
Kit wondered. Alison had accounted for the others’ stopping and he
thought her supposition accurate. He began to talk about the bridge,
and after a time Austin went to his office.
On the whole. Kit thought he would not go to Fairmead. For one thing,
the journey was awkward and they were busily occupied at the forge.
Moreover, he doubted if he ought to go. Alison’s charm was strong and
he was flesh and blood.
A week or two afterwards, when he raked up the fire one evening, Bill
gave him some patterns he marked by chalk.
“You’ll take the templates to Mr. Austin. I can make the truck the way
he wants, but a square end costs less to forge and leaves more metal
when you cut the slot. You want to show him——”
Kit noted the smith’s remarks and after supper started for Austin’s
office. The evening was cold and the woods were wet. For two or three
days the rain had not stopped, and big drops splashed in the trampled
mud along the track.
When Kit pushed back the door Austin looked up and frowned. The lamp
was lighted and the small room was hot, but Austin sat by the stove
and had pulled a rug across his legs. When he saw Kit he put a
drawing-board on the floor.
“What’s the trouble?” he inquired.
Kit told him, and Austin examined the patterns. “So long as the slots
will take the cotters, Bill can forge the ends as he likes. But sit
down and smoke a cigarette.”
“It looks as if you were busy——”
“I’m willing to stop,” said Austin, and shivered. “My back hurts and
my head aches. A chill, maybe. The rain was pretty fierce and I used
up all my dry clothes. Since I lay out in the mud at Paschendaele I
can’t stand for much wet and cold.”
“Then you were in the big fight?”
“For twenty-four hours I was in a flooded shell-hole, and when the
stretcher-bearers found me I went to the hospital—a broken leg and
rheumatic fever. All the use they had for me afterwards was at a base
camp. Were you in France?”
They talked about their adventures, but by and by Austin threw his
cigarette in the stove and gave Kit the drawing-board.
“My tobacco’s not good, and the plan must be ready in the morning.
Perhaps you can reckon up the rivet-holes; I own I cannot. The
spacing’s even and the holes must not finish on an odd number. I get
one short.”
Kit used Austin’s scale and dividers. “The holes are accurately
spaced. I expect you didn’t note that the end rivet goes through the
gusset-plate.”
“You have got it!” Austin agreed, and resolved to experiment, for he
saw Kit knew the use of drawing-tools.
“Another thing rather bothers me, and when I get a chill I’m not very
bright,” he resumed. “The drawings of the girders on the wall were
made at the head office, but I’m not satisfied about the bars in
tension. I don’t want to bother Wheeler; sometimes he gets annoyed.”
Kit carried the drawings to the table and was absorbed. He did not see
Austin studied him, and he forgot he was the smith’s helper. He
thought the plan typically American. The scheme was bold and
imaginative, and the engineers did not follow old-fashioned rules.
Their object was to save labor and build with speed. Kit approved, but
when he examined a detail plan he knitted his brows. The fellows were
bolder than he had thought and his interest carried him away.
“In tension, the ties would carry twenty-five tons to the square
inch,” he said. “Your safety margin is not very large.”
“The margin is large enough. In Canada we don’t build bridges for our
grandchildren. We reckon they will not have much use for locomotives
like ours.”
“It’s possible,” said Kit. “All the same, your diagonal braces take
some transverse strain, and you must reckon on the shearing effort
across the bolts. I’d straighten three or four members. Like this——”
He got a pencil, and Austin, with some surprise, studied the sketch.
He thought Kit had solved the puzzle, and he resolved to talk to
Wheeler about it in the morning. Kit was not the man to stay at the
forge.
“You are satisfied your plan would work?”
“If the job were mine I’d try it; but I’m not a bridge architect,” Kit
replied modestly.
“Then what are you?” Austin inquired.
Kit looked up and colored. Austin’s eyes were fixed on him and his
glance was keen.
“In the Old Country I was a shipbuilder’s draftsman.”
“Now I begin to see. The drawing office got monotonous?”
“Not at all,” said Kit. “I was fired.”
Austin remarked his frankness, but he had reckoned on Kit’s being
frank.
“Are you willing to talk about it?”
“I don’t see much use in talking. The company’s firing somebody was
logical. I claimed they had not spotted the proper man. But you’re not
very well, and I expect you’re tired.”
Austin agreed, and Kit went back to the bunkhouse. In the morning a
workman arrived at the forge.
“The boss wants Carson at the office,” he said.
Kit went with the man, who stopped at the door.
“The gang dropped a big tie-rod overboard, and I guess he’s riled. You
want to watch out,” he remarked, and vanished.
Somebody ordered Kit to come in, and when he rather nervously advanced
Wheeler got up and put a plan on the table. Wheeler was a big fellow
and his loose slicker exaggerated his bulkiness. His face was fleshy,
his mouth was hard and his glance commanding. Kit knew him for a good
engineer and something of a bully.
“Study up that bow-girder,” he said. “The load she’s designed for is
marked. Well, suppose we sent an extra big locomotive across, where do
you reckon she’d go through?”
“It’s obvious,” Kit replied, and indicated the spot.
“Then how’d you strengthen her for a double load?”
“I think I’d sooner build a fresh bridge; but I don’t know much about
bridges.”
“You’re not a railroad treasurer,” Wheeler rejoined. “Well, a
construction problem is a construction problem, whether you get up
against it in a bridge or, for example, a ship. Suppose you were
forced to strengthen the girder, where’d you start. Take ten minutes
for a rough sketch. Use the tools in front of you.”
Kit got to work and Wheeler lighted a cigar. By and by he picked up
the sketch.
“You were at an English shipyard. Why did you quit?”
“Since Mr. Austin knows, I expect you know.”
“Austin does not know much,” said Wheeler dryly. “I can’t force you to
talk.”
“A draftsman gave away some improvements the company could not patent.
The chiefs suspected me.”
Wheeler nodded. He knew men, and he thought if Kit had cheated he
would have talked at length.
“Well, there was no use in your applying at another yard? When you
resolved to pull out, why did you fix on Canada?”
“Montreal was nearer than Melbourne. Then, you see, for a long time
our folks were engineers and interested in Canadian industries.”
Kit imagined Wheeler looked at him rather hard.
“I expect Carsons are pretty numerous in the Old Country, but you
state your lot are engineers. Do you know Jasper Carson?”
“Jasper Carson of the Yorkshire forge is my uncle.”
“I reckon he could have got you a fresh engagement.”
“In the circumstances, I didn’t want to bother my relations. When I
started for Canada I doubt if Jasper Carson knew where I went.”
Wheeler smiled, as if he saw a joke. “And you hit our bridge and hired
up to help the smith? Well, you surely have——”
“To begin with, I helped the cook,” Kit interrupted. “I doubt if I
have much gall, and I’d sooner know if you think I have some talent
for engineering.”
“We’ll try you out,” Wheeler replied with a chuckle, as if the joke
got better. “On Monday you’ll go to Austin’s office, and if he thinks
you useful, we’ll fix your pay. In the meantime your job’s at the
forge. Get to it.”
Kit went back to the forge. He was puzzled but triumphant. In a few
days he would resume his proper occupation, and he felt he made some
progress.