“But please take the transit and see for yourself, Mr. Carleton,” urged Sanford.
“I don’t know nothin’ about your transit, nor who fixed it to suit you,” snarled Carleton.
Sanford bit his lip, and made no answer. There were more important things to be done in the building of a light than the resenting of such insults or quarreling with a superintendent. The skipper, however, to whom the superintendent was a first experience, and who took his answer as in some way a reflection on his own veracity, walked quickly toward him with his fist tightly clinched. His big frame towered over Carleton’s.
“Thank you, Captain Brandt,” said Sanford, noticing the skipper’s expression and intent. “But Mr. Carleton isn’t in earnest. His transit is not here, and we cannot tell who fixed that.”
The men laughed, and the skipper stopped and stood aside, awaiting any further developments that might require his aid.
“In view of these measurements,” asked Sanford, as he held before Carleton’s eyes the piece of plank bearing Captain Joe’s record, “do you still order the six inches of concrete put in?”
“Certainly I do,” said Carleton. His ugly temper was gradually being hidden under an air of authority. Sanford’s tact had regained him a debating position.
“And you take the responsibility of the change?”
“I do,” replied Carleton in a blustering voice.
“Then please put that order in writing,” said Sanford quietly, “and I will see it done as soon as the tide lowers.”