Hervey had now no incentive to leave the vicinity of camp. Doubtless he could have performed the great stunt without outside help (now that he knew it to be a stunt) but luck favored him as it usually did, and the new work going forward in the cove was enough to occupy his undivided attention.

He made his headquarters there and hobnobbed with civil engineers and laborers in the true democratic spirit which was his. The consulting engineer they called him, which was odd, because Hervey never consulted anybody about anything. The men all liked him immensely.

Another to benefit by the work on the new dam was Robin Hood, or Mr. Hood as he was respectfully called. He ran the flivver truck between the camp and the cove, carrying stone, and also cement and supplies which came by the railroad. They had to cut a road from the main road through to the cove.

But one thing was not brought by the flivver, and that was the suction dredge, a horrible monster, a kind of jumble of house and machinery which came on a big six-ton truck and was launched into the lake. Its whole ramshackle bulk shook and shivered when it was in operation sucking the bottom of the lake up through a big pipe and shooting it through another long pipe which terminated on the land. Thus sand and gravel were secured and at the same time the lake was dredged by this mammoth vacuum cleaner. The pipeline which terminated on the shore was supported on several floats a few yards apart, and the first scout to perform the stunt of walking on this pulsating thing was——

Guess.

About a week after work on the dam had begun, Tom rode over to the cove on the truck with Robin Hood. He had struck up a friendship with the stranger and liked him, as every one did. The young man was quiet, industrious, intelligent. He did not encourage questions about himself, but Tom was the last one to criticise reticence.

Moreover, labor was scarce and willing workers in demand. One thing which gave the young man favor in camp was his liking for the younger boys, who frequently rode back and forth with him.

"Well, it's beginning to look like a dam, isn't it?" Tom said, as they rode along. "You won't be able to get much more stone up behind the pavilion.... The dam ought to raise the lake level about five or six feet, the engineers say. That'll mean moving a couple of the cabins back. Storm was a good thing after all, huh?"

"I guess it will be remembered around these parts for a good many years," Tom's companion said.

"And you were out in the thick of it," said Tom, in his usual cheery way. "Up on the mountain it was terrible."

"On the mountain? I was—I was just in the woods. It was bad enough there."

He looked sideways at Tom, rather curiously. He liked Tom but he could never make up his mind about him. It always seemed to him, as indeed it seemed to others, that Tom's cheery, simple, offhand talk bespoke a knowledge of many things which he did not express. It was often hard to determine what he was really thinking about.

"I think I'll see that face whenever it storms," Tom said.

"What face?"

"Harlowe's; he was just staring up in the air. Ever see a person who has suffered violent death, Hood?"

"Once."

"Funny thing, did you ever hear how the eyes of a dead man reflect the last thing he saw? I know over in France they often saw images in the eyes of dead soldiers. Near Toul, where I was stationed, they carried in a dead Frenchy and you could see an airplane in his eyes just as sure as day."

"Did you—did you ever see anything like that?"

"Oh, sure. Ask any army surgeon or nurse."

Hood did not seem altogether satisfied with the answer. He was clearly perturbed. But he did not venture another question, and for a few minutes neither spoke.

"Another thing, too, speaking of France," said Tom. "We could always pick out a fellow that came over from England as soon as they set him to driving an ambulance. He'd always go plunk over to the left side of the road. You know they have to keep to the left over there instead of to the right——"

"Yes, I know——" Hood began, and stopped short.

"Been over there, eh?"

"I'm not English, but I lived there several years, and drove a car."

"Yes?" Tom laughed. "Well, now, I just noticed how you kept edging over to the left. I didn't think anything about your coming from England, but I just happened to notice it. Takes a long time to get a habit out of your nut, doesn't it? People might say you were reckless and all that when really it would just be that habit that you couldn't get away from. I've got so as I can tell a Pittsburgh scout, or a Canadian scout just from little things—little habits."

"You're a pretty keen observer," said Hood; "that about the eyes of a dead person interests me. When you made that discovery up on the mountain, do you mean——"

"Your engine isn't hitting on all four, Hood," Tom interrupted.

They both listened for a minute.

"Guess not," said the driver.

"Wire off, maybe," Tom suggested.

Hood stopped the machine and got out. It would have been more like Tom to jump out and investigate for himself, especially since he had run the old truck long before Hood had ever seen it. But he did not do it. Instead, he remained seated. Hood was right, there was nothing whatever the matter with the engine. He wondered how Tom could have thought there was.

Tom seemed not greatly interested until his companion climbed in, then he craned his neck out and looked down where Hood had been standing.

"All right," he finally said; "I was wrong, as usual."

"I think you're usually right," laughed Hood.

Whatever the cause, Tom seemed thoughtful and preoccupied for the rest of the journey. He whistled some, and that was a sign that he was thinking. Once he seemed on the point of saying something.

"Hood, do you——" he began. Then fell to whistling again.

And so in a little while they came to the cove.