Dusk was falling when Dick went to keep his appointment with his employer. Fireflies glimmered in the brush beside the path, and the lights of Santa Brigida flashed in a brilliant cluster on the edge of the shadowy sea. High above, rugged peaks cut black against the sky, and the land breeze that swept their lower slopes brought with it instead of coolness a warm, spicy smell. There was more foliage when Dick reached the foot of a projecting spur, for a dark belt of forest rolled down the hill; and by and by he saw a big tent, that gleamed with a softened radiance like a paper lantern, among a clump of palms. It seemed to be well lighted inside, and Dick remembered having heard orders for electric wires to be connected with the power-house at the dam.

Fuller obviously meant to give his daughter all the civilized comfort possible, and Dick was glad he had been able to find a clean duck suit, though he was not sure he had succeeded in removing all the oily grime from his face. Nothing could be done with his hands. The knuckles were scarred, the nails broken, and the black grease from the engine had worked into his skin. Still, this did not matter much, because he had gradually overcome his fastidiousness and it was not likely that Miss Fuller would notice him.

She was, however, sitting outside the tent, from which an awning extended so as to convert its front into a covered veranda, and Dick was half surprised when she gave him a smile of recognition that warranted his taking off his hat. Then Fuller, beckoning him to come forward, switched on another lamp and the light fell on a table covered with plans. Dick stopped when he reached it and waited, not knowing how his employer meant to receive him.

“Sit down,” said Fuller, indicating a chair, and then gave him one of the plans, some paper, and a fountain pen. “Study that piece of digging and let me know the weight of stuff to be moved, the number of men you’d use, and what you think the job would cost.”

Dick set to work, and at once became absorbed. Twenty minutes passed and he did not move or speak, nor did he see the smile with which Ida answered Fuller’s look. In another ten minutes he put down the pen and gave Fuller his calculations.

“I think that’s near it, sir. I’m reckoning on the use of colored peons.”

Fuller nodded. “You haven’t left much margin for what we call contingencies. But they’re going to bring us some coffee. Will you take a cigar?”

A Chinaman brought out a silver coffee-pot on a tray, which he placed on a folding table in front of Ida, and since it was two or three yards from the other, Dick got up when she filled the cups. She gave him two, which he carried back, but remained where she was, within hearing but far enough away not to obtrude her society upon the others. Dick, who lighted his cigar, felt grateful to Fuller. It was some time since he had met people of any refinement on friendly terms, and until he took up his quarters in the locomotive shed had been living in squalor and dirt.

There was not much furniture outside the tent, but the neat folding tables, comfortable canvas chairs, delicate china, and silver coffee-pot gave the place a luxurious look, and though Miss Fuller was, so to speak, outside the circle, the presence of a well-dressed, attractive girl had its charm. Indeed, Dick felt half embarrassed by the pleasantness of his surroundings. They were unusual and reminded him poignantly of the privileges he had enjoyed in England.

“Where did you learn to make these calculations?” Fuller asked after a time.

“In the British Army, Royal Engineers,” Dick answered with a flush.

“Were you an officer?”

Dick had dreaded the question. It looked as if truthfulness would cost him much; but he determined that his new friends should know the worst.

“Yes.”

“Then why did you quit?”

Dick glanced at Ida, and imagined that she was interested, though she did not look up.

“I was turned out, sir.”

“Ah!” said Fuller, without surprise. “May I ask why? It’s not impertinent curiosity.”

“I was sent with some important papers, which I lost. This was bad enough, but there was some ground for suspecting that I had stolen them.”

“Do you know how they were lost?”

Dick was grateful for the way the question was put, since it hinted that Fuller did not doubt his honesty.

“No,” he said. “That is, I have a notion, but I’m afraid I’ll never quite find out.”

Fuller did not reply for a minute or two, and Dick, whose face was rather hot, glanced back at Ida. Her eyes were now fixed on him with quiet interest, and something in her expression indicated approval.

“Well,” said Fuller, “I’m going to give you a chance of making good, because if you had done anything crooked, you wouldn’t have told me that tale. You’ll quit driving the locomotive and superintend on a section of the dam. I’m not satisfied with the fellow who’s now in charge. He’s friendly with the dago sub-contractors and I suspect I’m being robbed.”

Dick’s eyes sparkled. His foot was on the ladder that led to success; and he did not mean to stay at the bottom. Moreover, it caused him an exhilarating thrill to feel that he was trusted again.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” he said gratefully.

“Very well; you’ll begin to-morrow, and can use the rooms behind the iron office shack. But there’s something you have forgotten.”

Dick looked at him with a puzzled air; and Fuller laughed.

“You haven’t asked what I’m going to pay you yet.”

“No,” said Dick. “To tell the truth, it didn’t seem to matter.”

“Profession comes first?” Fuller suggested. “Well, that’s right, but I’ve hired professional men, engineering and medical experts, who charged pretty high. Anyhow, here’s my offer—”

Dick was satisfied, as was Fuller. The latter was often generous and would not have taken unfair advantage of Dick’s necessity, but he did not object to engaging a talented young man at something below the market rate.

“While I’m here you’ll come over twice a week to report,” he resumed. “And now if there’s anything you’d like to ask.”

“First of all, I owe you a dollar,” Dick remarked, putting the money on the table. “The pay-clerk wouldn’t take it, because he said it would mix up his accounts. I’m glad to pay you back, but this doesn’t cancel the debt.”

“It wasn’t a big risk. I thought you looked played out.”

“I was played out and hungry. In fact, it took me five minutes to make up my mind whether I’d pay the agent who gave me your address his fee, because it meant going without a meal.”

Fuller nodded. “Did you hesitate again, after you knew you’d got the job?”

“I did. When we were hustled on board the steamer, there was nobody at the gangway for a few moments and I felt I wanted to run away. There didn’t seem to be any reason for this, but I very nearly went.”

“That kind of thing’s not quite unusual,” Fuller answered with a smile. “In my early days, when every dollar was of consequence, I often had a bad time after I’d made a risky deal. Used to think I’d been a fool, and I’d be glad to pay a smart fine if the other party would let me out. Yet if he’d made the proposition, I wouldn’t have clinched with it.”

“Such vacillation doesn’t seem logical, in a man,” Ida interposed. “Don’t you practical people rather pride yourselves on being free from our complexities? Still I suppose there is an explanation.”

“I’m not a philosopher,” Fuller replied. “If you have the constructive faculty, it’s your business to make things and not examine your feelings; but my explanation’s something like this—When you take a big risk you have a kind of unconscious judgment that tells you if you’re right, but human nature’s weak, and scares you really don’t believe in begin to grip. Then it depends on your nerve whether you make good or not.”

“Don’t they call it sub-conscious?” Ida asked. “And how does that judgment come?”

“I guess it’s built up on past experience, on things you’ve learned long since and stored away. In a sense, they’re done with, you don’t call them up and argue from them; but all the same, they’re the driving force when you set your teeth and go ahead.”

Ida looked at Dick. “That can’t apply to us, who have no long experience to fall back upon.”

“I’ve only made one venture of the kind, but I’ve just discovered that it turned out right.”

Fuller smiled. “That’s neat.” Then he turned to Ida. “But I wasn’t talking about women. They don’t need experience.”

“Sometimes you’re merely smart, and sometimes you’re rather deep, but I can’t decide which you are just now,” Ida rejoined. “However, I expect you’re longing to get back to the plans.”

“No,” said Fuller. “They have to be thought of, but life isn’t all a matter of building dams. Now I’m getting old, I’ve found that out.”

“And you? Have you any opinion on the subject?” Ida asked Dick.

Dick hesitated, wondering whether she meant to put him at his ease or was amused by his seriousness.

“I don’t imagine my views are worth much and they’re not very clear. In a way, of course, it’s plain that Mr. Fuller’s right—”

“But after all, building dams and removing rocks may very well come first?”

Dick pondered this. So far, his profession had certainly come first. He was not a prig or a recluse, but he found engineering more interesting than people. Now he came to think of it, he had been proud of Helen’s beauty, but she had not stirred him much or occupied all his thoughts. Indeed, he had only once been overwhelmingly conscious of a woman’s charm, and that was in Kenwardine’s garden. He had lost his senses then, but did not mean to let anything of the kind happen again.

“Well,” he said diffidently, “so long as you’re content with your occupation, it doesn’t seem necessary to make experiments and look for adventures. I expect it saves you trouble to stick to what you like and know.”

He noted Ida’s smile, and was silent afterwards while she argued with her father. He did not want to obtrude himself, and since they seemed to expect him to stay, it was pleasant enough to sit and listen.

The air was getting cooler and the moon had risen and cast a silver track across the sea. The distant rumble of the surf came up the hillside in a faint, rhythmic beat, and the peaks above the camp had grown in distinctness. A smell of spice drifted out of the jungle, and Dick, who was tired, was sensible of a delightful languor. The future had suddenly grown bright and besides this, Ida’s gracious friendliness had given him back his confidence and self-respect. He was no longer an outcast; he had his chance of making good and regaining the amenities of life that he had learned to value by their loss. He was very grateful to the girl and Fuller, but at length took his leave and returned to the locomotive shed with a light heart and a springy step.

Next morning he began his new work with keen energy. It absorbed him, and as the dam slowly rose in a symmetrical curve of molded stone, its austere beauty commanded his attention. Hitherto he had given utility the leading place, but a change had begun the night he sat beneath the copper-beech with Clare Kenwardine. The design of the structure was good, but Dick determined that the work should be better, and sometimes stopped in the midst of his eager activity to note the fine, sweeping lines and silvery-gray luster of the concrete blocks. There were soft lights at dawn and when the sun sank in which the long embankment glimmered as if carved in mother-of-pearl.

In the meantime, he went to Fuller’s tent twice a week and generally met Ida there. Once or twice, he pleaded with his employer for extra labor and cement to add some grace of outline to the dam, and, although this was unproductive expenditure, Fuller agreed.

“I like a good job, but it’s going to cost high if you mean to turn out a work of art,” he said. “However, if Bethune thinks the notion all right, I suppose I’ll have to consent.”

Dick 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.”

Dick 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 Dick 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 glass 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 shirt 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 Dick. “There’s a glass and some ice in the bureau inside. Anyhow my steward boy put some there.”

Dick, 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 FranÇois 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 pushing.”

“That shows good taste,” Bethune remarked. “But how are you going to get over the difficulty that you are what you call pushing? 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,” Dick 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.”

Dick 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 Dick. “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,” Dick 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 FranÇois Villon?”

“No,” said Dick firmly. “I want to see that Moran turns out his gang at sunrise and must get back.”

“Pick me up the book, anyhow,” Bethune replied, and laughed good-humoredly when Dick left him.