At the top of the steps to the drawing-office Kit stopped and leaned against the rails. The building slips were occupied, and when work was pushed ahead at night he liked to look about the yard. Smoke rolled across the river; the tide ebbed and wet mudbanks reflected the steelworks fires. When the flames got dim, smaller lights trembled on the curving channel. On one side bare, skeletons of ships melted in the gloom, and behind dark walls wheels rolled. Then sparks blew from twinkling forges on a wooden stage and light hammers rattled like a rifle volley.
Kit knew the rivet gang fastened the Mariposa’s plates, but he must get to work and he pulled out his key. The head draftsman, Blake, and the night watchman had other keys. When Kit opened the door he heard steps and somebody shouted:
“Hello, Mr. Carson!”
Kit turned and saw the boiler-shop foreman in the yard.
“When do you reckon to start us on the Mariposa’s job?”
“You’ll get the drawings in a day or two,” Kit replied. “I expect Robbins will take the plans to Colvin in the morning, and if he is satisfied, we’ll make the blue prints. You have, no doubt, got your orders?”
“All’s ready to shove ahead. Robbins doesn’t want the tubes to stand in frame for folks to look at, and as soon as the joints are made we’ll put the casing on. Well, I reckon my lot won’t talk, and nobody but myself will handle the plans. The boat’s a pretty model and looks as if she’d go, but our job’s to drive her, and I expect the opposition would give something for your prints.”
“It’s possible,” Kit agreed. “All the same, I understand their boat’s frames are up, and they have, no doubt, begun the boiler. I must get to work at ours. Good-night, Seeley!”
He shut the door, switched on a light, and sat down. The spacious office throbbed and when the hammers crashed the windows rattled, but on the whole the noise was soothing. For the greater part of twelve hours Kit had been strenuously occupied, and now for a few minutes he could relax.
He pictured Blake and Mabel by the gas fire at the little flat, talking about Tom’s good luck. Well, Tom deserved his luck; he was a first-class pal, and at the beginning had helped Kit more than he knew. Then Kit imagined for Tom to meet his household bills was hard; his clothes were not very good and he brought his lunch to the office. Tom, however, had Mabel, and Kit thought she justified all the self-denial a man, for her sake, could use.
Kit pictured her shopping where food was cheap, counting the pennies for the meter-stove, and improvising supper for her husband’s friends. Yet she was happy. Mabel had a man’s pluck, and sometimes when Kit thought about her he was moved. But he was not at all her lover. Mabel was his pal’s wife and, when he was rich, he was going to marry Evelyn. To think about it would not help and he must get his drawing-board.
Unlocking a cupboard, he carried the board to a table and put out his drawing instruments. The boiler was the manager’s and the head draftsman’s job, but they did not draw the plans. They told Kit their notions, gave him rough sketches, and allowed him to calculate dimensions and work out details. His part was important, and he liked to know the others trusted him. In fact, if the boiler steamed as it ought to steam, he imagined they would frankly acknowledge his help, and their doing so implied his getting a better post. On the whole, he would rather stay at the yard than bother his uncle. So far, it did not look as if his progress interested Jasper Carson.
Kit measured some tubes on the drawing and began to calculate. The calculations were intricate, and by and by he pulled out his watch. His brain was getting dull, and since he did not want to stop until morning, he must brace up. He tried again and found his reckoning accurate. The trouble was, a curved tube was rather small, and the bend was sharp. It might check the water’s even flow and one must allow for incrustation.
Now Kit thought about it, he had stated something like that to Colvin, and in the first plans the tube was larger. He was persuaded the first plans would work, but Colvin did not agree. Kit went to the cupboard for the drawings he had made some time since, and stretching the paper on a board, stopped and moved the light. Where he had used the compasses another time he saw two small marks, as if somebody had used a larger radius to sweep the curve. Kit knitted his brows; he did not think he had lengthened the radius, but if he had done so, it would give an easier curve. He had argued that the curve ought to be easier.
He experimented with his compass. Unless he pressed hard, its point did not leave a mark like the other, and he was puzzled. The plans were kept in the cupboard, and he carried the key; and for some time nobody but Blake had gone to the office at night. Blake had nothing to do with the boiler, and all knew him trustworthy.
Kit admitted it was possible his compass had made the mark, and he resolved he would not bother about it. The tube must be a little larger and the curve easier. He got his scale and a book of tables and resumed his calculations. At length he was satisfied, and all was ready for Robbins to approve. Kit knew Robbins would approve. For long he had labored at the job, but the job was good. Now he was frankly tired and, stretching his arms across the table, he let himself go slack.
He was young and romantic, and the Negapatam’s whistle had excited his imagination. Sometimes he felt the steamer’s whistles called him from the drawing-office and the smokey yard. He pictured the Mariposa pushing up a big calm river and the muddy wave she threw off lapping the mangrove roots. He saw dazzling sunbeams pierce the forest and touch tangled creepers and orchids on the rotting trunks. The little boat stemmed the yellow flood and her boiler steamed as the company’s boiler ought to steam.
When the boat had run her trial Kit was going for a holiday, and he saw another picture. Evelyn, carrying a fishing rod, balanced on a ledge by a sparkling pool. Her clothes harmonized with the lichen on the stones, and her slender body was posed like a Greek statue. The rod bent, and Kit, in the water, held the landing-net.
The picture melted, and another got distinct. Evelyn occupied a hammock under the big oaks at Netherhall; Kit lay in the grass, and in the shade water splashed. Sometimes he joked and Evelyn smiled; sometimes he talked about the Mariposa’s boiler. When one talked about things like that Evelyn was not bored. Kit sensed in her a practical vein, and she knew he must make his mark. Steamship whistles did not call Evelyn, but Kit smiled, a happy smile. Her part was to make home beautiful, and he was willing for her to curb his romantic extravagance.
Kit straightened his bent shoulders. Unless he got on his feet, he would soon be asleep, and he put the plans in the cupboard and locked the door. When he got his hat the watchman came in and pushed a peg into the clock.
“You’re going, Mr. Carson! I s’pose nobody else was in the office since I was round?”
“I was alone. Why do you want to know?”
“Mr. Robbins’s orders was, if anybody but you and Mr. Blake came back at night, I must report.”
Kit smiled and went down the steps. Old Robbins used some caution, but he ought to know his men. All the same, since the boiler’s advantages could not be patented, perhaps caution was justified.
In the morning Kit carried the plans to the head draftsman’s table, and for a time Robbins measured and calculated. Then he said: “You have used a longer radius for the intake tube’s curve. In fact, to some extent, you have gone back to our original notion.”
“That is so,” Kit agreed. “The water must circulate freely.”
Robbins smiled. “You’re an obstinate young fellow. I know you liked the first plan, but I begin to think you logical.”
He used his scale, and Kit thought about the mark on the other drawing. His experiment with his compass did not banish all doubt, and he admitted he was obstinate. Obsessed by the advantage of a flowing curve, he had perhaps unconsciously tried a longer radius. Then Robbins looked up.
“Well, I believe all is right, and if Colvin agrees, we’ll make the prints and templates for the shops. The job’s good, and if the Mariposa beats the other boat, I’ll see your part is known. I rather think Colvin studies you, and when a young man’s wanted for a good post his word carries weight.”
Kit went back to his table and took his tools from a drawer. Pulling about some at the bottom, he saw a small worn eraser he knew was not his, for the rubber was not the stuff the company’s draftsmen used. Blake, however, was fastidious and liked another sort. Kit imagined Tom had left the piece on his board, or perhaps he had carelessly carried off Tom’s. He put the thing in his pocket and got to work.
The plans were sent to the shops and the boiler was built. The steamer was launched, and one morning Kit climbed to a stage by the waterside. Fifty yards off, the Mariposa rode at a mooring buoy and a number of important gentlemen had gone on board. The current went up river, and oily black eddies revolved along the mud-bank’s edge, but the tide was not yet full and for an hour or two large steamers would not come up the channel.
By contrast with the murky water, dark sheds, smoke, and cinder heaps, the Mariposa was spotlessly clean. Her low hull was finely moulded, and the long shade-deck overhead followed her rail’s bold curve. Tapered masts and slanted funnel harmonized with the flowing lines below. But for her brown teak deckhouse and the black clothes and green and gold uniforms of the group by a door, all on board was white; Kit thought her beautiful. Moreover, she looked speedy.
A bell rang, a little smoke curled from the funnel, and Kit pulled out his watch. The fires were lighted and since the foreign government stipulated that the boiler must steam fast, he must know when steam was up. The smoke was thin and indistinct, and he saw the combustion was good. So far, all went well, but to wait was hard and he lighted a cigarette. A very small defect would spoil the trial, and one could not altogether guard against another’s carelessness. Workmen were human.
After a time, steam blew from a pipe and stopped. The mooring chains splashed, a bell rang, and the engines began to throb. Foam tossed about the screw and the Mariposa leaped ahead. Her bows lifted and rode on a muddy wave. The wave sank, and re-forming at her rounded stern, broke and trailed away in a long, eddying wake. Small, angry rollers splashed against the mud and Kit’s heart beat. Steam was up before the stipulated time and the boat’s speed was good, but the harbor commissioners’ rules were stern and the engineers dared not yet let her go. When she reached open water, all on board would acknowledge he and Robbins had made a first-class job. After a few minutes the Mariposa vanished round a curve and Kit returned to his drawing-table.
In the afternoon he was called to the manager’s office. Two or three directors were in the room, and one said: “You are Jasper Carson’s relation?”
Kit said Jasper was his uncle, and the director nodded.
“Then, it looks as if you had inherited some of his qualities. Mr. Robbins declares your help was useful, and perhaps you’ll be glad to know the boiler does all we claim, and the boat is nearly a knot faster than the buyers stipulated. Stick to your job and by and by you may get a better. Our rule is to push on a keen man.”
“There’s another thing, Carson,” said the manager. “I have given the cashier some orders—you can take it for a mark of the company’s appreciation.”
Kit, with something of an effort, replied politely, and went off. His heart beat and the blood came to his skin. He was young and triumph carried a thrill.