“Not so’s you could notice it. We had an awful fight to-day and I just up and left. I couldn’t stand it any longer. Do you think there is a chance of my hooking on? I’ve got to have it because I haven’t any money to go any further hunting one.”
Then Bob told him the news that he had been saving for next Sunday. “Come along to the Quarter-house with me and feed, and then we’ll go hunt Whiskers—I mean Mr. Whitney.”
Ted was puzzled at the reference Bob had made to the Chief Engineer. “You called him Whiskers—is that your nickname for him?”
“Not the one we use on this job,” laughed Bob. “We used that back in Virginia.” And during supper Ted made Bob tell the adventures he had had in Virginia with the man who was now in entire charge of the dam.
Mr. Whitney was as good as his word and gave the newcomer a chance to make good as a rodman. Bob felt that because he had found him he was a sort of protégé of his and they were together a good part of the time. At first Jerry was one of their group. But little by little he slipped back into the mood of silence and reserve which had been most noticeable about him before the trip through the Labyrinth had been made. Again he would go off by himself, seeming to prefer it to the companionship of the other two boys. Bob noticed that very rarely did he go down stream when he started off from the camp, but was headed in the general direction of the north. Never since that first day had he invited Bob to go along with him and after several of the trips he let fall remarks about the Service and his job that did not ring true in Bob’s ears. It was as if Jerry were nursing a grudge. But the fact that the boy who had shared the great adventure of the Labyrinth with him seemed to be growing away from him again, did not bother Bob as much as it might have had he and Ted Hoyt not become such good friends.
On Sundays they went fishing together and spent most of the time talking about the Service and their work. Ted soon grew to have the same passion for the Service as had Bob. He was quick to learn and together the boys pored over such text books as they could lay their hands on.
The work on the dam had gone smoothly since Mr. Whitney had taken the job over. Except for minor accidents, nothing really bothersome had happened to delay the work in any way, yet Bob, who was now constantly with the Chief, realized that something was bothering the man he was so fond of. Gone was the half chummy, half paternal air of Mr. Whitney. He was irritable and not at all himself.
Finally it got too much for Bob and one day, taking his courage in both hands, he blurted forth, “Say, Whisk—Mr. Whitney, what’s gone wrong? Is it anything money won’t cure?” He held his breath awaiting the answer. It was a cheeky, nervy thing to do and if his boss did not take it the right way, he would be perfectly justified in sending him back to the horrible punishment of the draughting room. But he need not have worried. Mr. Whitney was too much of a big boy himself and had too much understanding not to realize that the question had been asked because anything that troubled him meant so much to the boy.
“I guess I’ve been a bear lately, Bob,” he said laughing. “But I’m up against an awfully queer proposition and I don’t yet see just how to tackle it.”
Bob was about to ask another question, but thought better of it.