Tregarvon, who had been thinking of many things during the speechless interval, answered on the impulse of the moment.
“Of course; I’ll let you read the letter, if you care to. Why shouldn’t I? There’s your candle on the mantel, when you want it. I’m going to bed.”
XIX
The Human Equation
ON the Tuesday after Tregarvon’s return to Coalville the arrival of the new equipment was the signal for a brisk renewal of the activities. Tregarvon had spent the day scouring the valley for men and teams, and by Wednesday morning he had a small army at his command. Many hands made light work, and by noon the machinery was unloaded, and all was ready for the beginning of the toilsome haul up the mountain.
“I suppose you know how you are going to do it,” Carfax remarked, dallying over his luncheon in the office-building dining-room while Tregarvon was hastily bolting his meal as fast as Uncle William could serve it. “Where did you learn? The university didn’t teach you, I’m sure.”
“Experience,” mumbled the working-man. “I learned the trade getting the other boiler and engine up the hill.”
Carfax was apparently in a reflective mood. “This rough-and-tumble game down here is making a different man of you,” he offered. “Don’t you realize the change?”
“I’ve never been afraid of work, if that is what you mean.”
“Yes, I know; but the kind of work that implies the wearing of corduroys and a flannel shirt, and builds horny lumps on the palms of your hands, and makes you talk to a mule in the only language a mule understands—I never used to dream it of you in the old days, Vance.”
“I work for the same reason that other men do—because it’s up to me. This would be a damned lazy world if necessity didn’t crack the whip.”