“You are right, Bob. I am the chief and starting from to-day I will have to be Mr. Whitney. There is another rodman here and it would be bad for discipline if you called me by that—‘vacation’ name, let’s call it. But we had mighty good times when I was just Whiskers, didn’t we?”
“You bet,” answered Bob. “I’ll never forget ’em.” For a moment he said nothing, letting his thoughts drift. Then—“But where is the job? You said it wasn’t here.”
“No, just now there isn’t any job at all—”
“What?” exploded the boy, anxiously.
“Don’t worry,” the engineer assured him; “there will be plenty of work. I have just finished a project in Colorado and am waiting for further orders. I told you to meet me here because I wanted you to see the greatest natural wonder we have in the United States, the Grand Canyon, and I am going to work you so hard later on that you won’t have another chance to get here before you go back to college. And I want your first sight of it to be at sunset. Then it is most wonderful.”
By this time they had reached the hotel.
“Go and wash up and come down quickly,” urged Bob’s new boss. “It’s almost sunset, and I don’t want you to miss it! I’ll wait for you here on the porch.”
Bob wasted no time and a few minutes later joined Mr. Whitney. The veranda of the hotel is built almost on the edge of the great rift in the surface of the earth. Bob started to pull up a chair to the railing where his friend was sitting but stopped as the other rose.
“I’ve got a better place than this to see it from,” said Mr. Whitney. “A lot of folks will be coming out here presently and too many people spoil the thing. Come along.”
Bob followed and was led to a little clump of bushes that grew on the edge some distance from the hotel. Mr. Whitney pushed them aside and disclosed a little ledge a few feet down from the rim, which afforded a comfortable seat.