CHAPTER XXI
DICK MAKES A BOLD VENTURE
Some delicate and important work was being done, and Stuyvesant had had his lunch sent up to the dam. Bethune and Dick joined him afterwards, and sat in the shade of a big traveling crane. Stuyvesant and Dick were hot and dirty, for it was not their custom to be content with giving orders when urgent work was going on. Bethune looked languid and immaculately neat. His speciality was mathematics, and he said he did not see why the man with mental talents should dissipate his energy by using his hands.
“It’s curious about that French liner,” Stuyvesant presently remarked. “I understand her passengers have been waiting since yesterday and she hasn’t arrived.”
“The last boat cut out Santa Brigida without notice,” Bethune replied. “My opinion of the French is that they’re a pretty casual lot.”
“On the surface. They smile and shrug where we set our teeth, but when you get down to bed-rock you don’t find much difference. I thought as you do, until I went over there and saw a people that run us close for steady, intensive industry. Their small cultivators are simply great. I’d like to put them on our poorer land in the Middle West, where we’re content with sixteen bushels of wheat that’s most fit for chicken feed to the acre. Then what they don’t know about civil engineering isn’t worth learning.”
Bethune made a gesture of agreement. “They’re certainly fine engineers and they’re putting up a pretty good fight just now, but these Latins puzzle me. Take the Iberian branch of the race, for example. We have Spanish peons here who’ll stand for as much work and hardship as any Anglo-Saxon I’ve met. Then an educated Spaniard’s hard to beat for intellectual subtlety. Chess is a game that’s suited to my turn of mind, but I’ve been badly whipped in Santa Brigida. They’ve brains and application, and yet they don’t progress. What’s the matter with them, anyway?”
“I expect they can’t formulate a continuous policy and stick to it, and they keep brains and labor too far apart; the two should coordinate. But I wonder what’s holding up the mail boat.”
“Do they know when she left the last port?” Dick, who had listened impatiently, asked with concealed interest.
“They do. It’s a short run and she ought to have arrived yesterday morning.”