“Mr. Esher? Yes; I met him day before yesterday when he was going over the work.”
“Esher is his name, and he’s the prize crank of the lot. He has just thrown out that last shipment of cement on us; says it doesn’t test up to standard in the railroad lab. It’s all poppy-cock, of course. Some little-boy chemist on the railroad pay-roll has made a blunder—that’s all there is to it. Now then; have you been keeping in touch with your college?”
“Fairly well; yes.”
“Stand in with the professors in the college cement lab.?”
“Yes; I know them all.”
“Good men, are they?—men whose word you’d take in settling a dispute?”
“In proof tests, you mean? Certainly; I’d accept them without question.”
“Good. Here’s what we’re up against. This shipment of cement that I’m talking about is the material Shubrick was to have used in the under-water work on Pier Four. We can’t afford to throw it away, and to save it we’ll have to do a little juggling; but I want you to satisfy yourself fully beforehand. Take samples of the cement, just as it stands, and send them to your college for analysis. We’ll keep Shubrick supplied out of the reserve stock until you get your answer. Better get the samples off to-day.”
Now all this was purely routine, and David, who had thus been honored by the confidence of his chief, went about it as a part of the day’s work. The samples were duly taken and forwarded to the university, with a personal letter explaining the reason for the requested analysis. An unbiased opinion was desired, and the letter-writer ventured to hope that it might be given promptly.
In a few days the answer came, and it was entirely satisfactory. The samples which had been submitted tested fully up to standard, and the college authorities were at a loss to understand why any question should have been raised as to the quality of the material. David Vallory showed the letter to Grimsby, and was rewarded by the hard-featured chief’s nearest approach to a smile.