"And a scholar," the master-mechanic went on imperturbably.
The buckboard driver's black eyes snapped. "Can you add the rest of it—'and he isn't very bright'?"
"No," was the sober reply.
"Well, what are we up against?"
Gridley snapped the penknife shut and began to chew the sharpened end of the match.
"Your pop-valve is set too light; you blow off too easily, Flemister," he commented. "So far we—or rather you—are up against nothing worse than the old proposition. Lidgerwood is going to try to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, beginning with the pay-roll contingent. If I have sized him up right, he'll be kept busy; too busy to remember your name—or mine."
"What do you mean? in just so many words."
"Nothing more than I have said. Mr. Lidgerwood is a gentleman and a scholar."
"Ha!" said the man in the buckboard seat. "I believe I'm catching on, after so long a time. You mean he hasn't the sand."
Gridley neither denied nor affirmed. He had taken out his penknife again and was resharpening the match.