A STEP UP
Dusk was falling when Dick went to keep his appointment with his employer. Fireflies glimmered in the brush beside the path, and the lights of Santa Brigida flashed in a brilliant cluster on the edge of the shadowy sea. High above, rugged peaks cut black against the sky, and the land breeze that swept their lower slopes brought with it instead of coolness a warm, spicy smell. There was more foliage when Dick reached the foot of a projecting spur, for a dark belt of forest rolled down the hill; and by and by he saw a big tent, that gleamed with a softened radiance like a paper lantern, among a clump of palms. It seemed to be well lighted inside, and Dick remembered having heard orders for electric wires to be connected with the power-house at the dam.
Fuller obviously meant to give his daughter all the civilized comfort possible, and Dick was glad he had been able to find a clean duck suit, though he was not sure he had succeeded in removing all the oily grime from his face. Nothing could be done with his hands. The knuckles were scarred, the nails broken, and the black grease from the engine had worked into his skin. Still, this did not matter much, because he had gradually overcome his fastidiousness and it was not likely that Miss Fuller would notice him.
She was, however, sitting outside the tent, from which an awning extended so as to convert its front into a covered veranda, and Dick was half surprised when she gave him a smile of recognition that warranted his taking off his hat. Then Fuller, beckoning him to come forward, switched on another lamp and the light fell on a table covered with plans. Dick stopped when he reached it and waited, not knowing how his employer meant to receive him.
“Sit down,” said Fuller, indicating a chair, and then gave him one of the plans, some paper, and a fountain pen. “Study that piece of digging and let me know the weight of stuff to be moved, the number of men you’d use, and what you think the job would cost.”
Dick set to work, and at once became absorbed. Twenty minutes passed and he did not move or speak, nor did he see the smile with which Ida answered Fuller’s look. In another ten minutes he put down the pen and gave Fuller his calculations.
“I think that’s near it, sir. I’m reckoning on the use of colored peons.”
Fuller nodded. “You haven’t left much margin for what we call contingencies. But they’re going to bring us some coffee. Will you take a cigar?”
A Chinaman brought out a silver coffee-pot on a tray, which he placed on a folding table in front of Ida, and since it was two or three yards from the other, Dick got up when she filled the cups. She gave him two, which he carried back, but remained where she was, within hearing but far enough away not to obtrude her society upon the others. Dick, who lighted his cigar, felt grateful to Fuller. It was some time since he had met people of any refinement on friendly terms, and until he took up his quarters in the locomotive shed had been living in squalor and dirt.
There was not much furniture outside the tent, but the neat folding tables, comfortable canvas chairs, delicate china, and silver coffee-pot gave the place a luxurious look, and though Miss Fuller was, so to speak, outside the circle, the presence of a well-dressed, attractive girl had its charm. Indeed, Dick felt half embarrassed by the pleasantness of his surroundings. They were unusual and reminded him poignantly of the privileges he had enjoyed in England.