While the boys talked of the marvelous thing before them a stranger of quiet mien stood watching them from an elevation a few yards away. He was a man of middle age, with brilliant black eyes, long, like those of an Oriental, and a figure almost boyish in its proportions. He was neatly dressed in a dark suit of some soft, expensive material, his linen was spotless, and a diamond of great value and brilliancy glimmered in his pure white tie.
He stood watching the boys for a moment listening to their talk, and then approached them, softly, deferentially, yet with an air of frankness.
“It is a wonderful sight,” he said, as he came to the edge of the cut where the lads stood. “In all the world’s life there has never been anything like it.”
The boys turned and looked the man over modestly, yet with sharp eyes. It is not to be wondered at, after their experiences there, that they were suspicious of all strangers. They both at first rather liked the looks of the man.
“It is worth coming a long way to see,” Peter observed.
“Yes,” was the reply, “it is wonderful, even to those who are small cogs in the great machine, and so it must seem almost supernatural in its showing of strength to those who look upon it for the first time.”
“You belong on the works?” asked Jimmie, gazing at the man with a sort of awe, as one might look at a man of mighty deeds.
“Yes, I have my part in the work,” was the reply, “though it is only a modest part. I am in the office of the engineer, and frequently come out at night to note the progress of the big cut.”
“It must make a man feel a mile high, to be part of a thing like this,” Jimmie said, sweeping a hand over the scene. “It makes little old New York look like thirty cents,” he added, with a laugh.
“The work,” the stranger said, in a pleasant tone, which gave no indication of foreign birth “has progressed beyond the expectations of the most enthusiastic advocate of the canal. When we came here we found about seven miles of waterway bored into the side of the Isthmus, reaching, well, about up to the rising slope of Gatun. Beyond this there were scratches in the soil for about forty miles. There was a notch nicked in the hills of Culebra—just a nick bearing no resemblance to what you see before you at this time.”