Tait went out, and Hennion fell to figuring.
William R. Macclesfield was a cultivated gentleman, whose personal courtesies to all men seemed to be returned by fortune in personal courtesies to him. Macclesfield's attractiveness would be evident at first knowledge. Persuasion of his astuteness would follow not long after. Precipitate judgments on his character, based on the interview which here dropped into Hennion's experience of men and things, were as well unmade. Hennion preferred to whistle and consider it.
“Should I congratulate or commiserate?” said Macclesfield, smiling and shaking hands.
“Commiserate, thank you.”
Macclesfield sat down and talked on pleasantly.
“Yes, yes. Well, it may not be so bad as you think. It calls for great judiciousness. Wood, now, was a remarkable, I should say a judicious, man. I know. Your profession, of course. Times have changed since your father and I met thirty, yes, forty years ago. He was proud of his profession. Rightly so. Of course, rightly so. We enjoyed ourselves, too, we young men. The times were perhaps a little, I might say, rugged. Port Argent has grown. There have been remarkable developments in politics and engineering. Nowadays municipal affairs seem to call for a manager in the background. If he's apt to be there, it must mean he is needed, but it's a peculiar position. You are quite right. But you were Wood's choice, and he was a very judicious man. You find it takes time and labour. Yes, and it calls for ability. Now, it is curious that some people seem to think one in that position ought not to get anything for his trouble. I call that absurd. I always found in railroading that time, labour, and ability had to be paid for. By the way, you learned engineering from your father, I think. Yes, an old friend of mine. I was thinking coming over the street just now with Tait—I was thinking what fine things he did in his profession. Very bold, and yet very safe. Remarkable. And yet engineering was almost in its infancy then.”
“Yes,” said Hennion, “the changes would have interested him.”
“Indeed they would! So—the fact is—I was thinking that, if you cared to submit plans, I should personally like to see you build that bridge of ours. I should personally like to see what Rick Hennion's son can do. An elderly man like me can be forgiven a little sentiment, even in business.”
Hennion laughed. Macclesfield glanced up suddenly, but saw nothing in the young man's somewhat impassive face to trouble him.
“I'd like to build the bridge, of course. You don't think the sentiment needs any forgiveness from me?”