When the superintendent had explained the magnitude
of the work, the difficulties encountered and how
the task had been accomplished, the general manager,
who—here and there—had added
a word, said: “After all, friends, taking
into consideration money, equipment and everything,
the whole question of a work like this, or of any great
enterprise, resolves itself into a question of men.
It’s up to the man on the job. We
have the system, the machinery without which this
work could not have been done. We have the capital
to supply material and labor—but that man
up there closed the break.”
As he spoke he pointed to a figure standing on the
upper trestle above the fill—outlined against
the sky.
Then the party climbed the grade to the tracks again
and walked to the end of the upper trestle. Turning,
the engineer saw and came towards them. Silently
they stood to receive him. From boots to Stetson
his khaki trousers and rough shirt were stained with
mud and grime, his eyes were sunken in dark hollows,
his worn face was unshaven and his hair, when he removed
his hat, was unkempt. He did not look like a
hero; he looked more like some ruffian just from a
prolonged debauch. But the little party burst
into applause.
The engineer smiled as his chief went forward from
the group to grasp him by the hand. For a moment
they talked of the work. Then the official, placing
his hand on the engineer’s arm, said: “Come,
Holmes, we have some women here who want to meet the
man who mastered the Colorado.”
The engineer protested. He was “not presentable.”
“Presentable! You’re the most presentable
man I know of this minute. Come along, there’s
my wife making signs to me to hurry right now.”
There was nothing for Holmes to do but to go.
A moment later he was face to face with the rest of
the party and—with Barbara Worth.
NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE
Two weeks after the victory of Willard Holmes in the
River war the engineer arrived in Republic on the
evening train from the city by the sea.
At the hotel he was quickly surrounded by the pioneer
citizens, who were eager to greet him with expressions
of appreciation for his work. But it was Horace
P. Blanton who did the talking.
Horace P., in his brave picture-general hat, his impressively
swelling front of white vest and his black clerical
tie, was the personification of economic, financial
and scholastic—not to say ecclesiastic,
dignity. His greeting of the engineer was majestic.
But, as a royal sovereign might welcome the returning
general of his conquering armies with sadness at the
thought of the lives his victories had cost, the countenance
of Horace P. expressed a noble grief.
