“How do you know when you have come to the line?”
“Well,” smiled Lance, “experience helps; but I think it’s an instinct. Of course, if you do show signs of damage, you’re done for, because then the people who envied you throw the biggest stones.”
“Let’s start,” said Dick. “I’m not much of a philosopher. Building bridges and digging saps is good enough for me.”
“They’re healthy occupations, so long as you don’t get shot; but, considering everything, it’s strange that they still monopolize your interest.”
Dick colored. He knew what his cousin meant. He had been attracted by a girl of whom his father approved and who was well-bred, pretty, and rich. Dick imagined that his father’s views were agreeable to Helen’s relatives and that she was not ignorant of this. Still, nothing had been actually arranged, and although he admired Helen, it would be time enough to think of marriage when he was a captain, for instance.
“Pontoons and excavations have their charm for men with constructive tastes,” Lance went on; “but you may find later that they don’t satisfy all your needs.”
“Get your hat!” Dick returned with a smile, jumping up as he spoke.
The music-hall was badly filled. The audience seemed listless and the performance dragged. Even the much-praised dancer was disappointing, and there was an unusual number of shabby loungers in the bar. Dick had come prepared to enjoy himself after a day of arduous work, and by way of doing so, he ordered a drink or two that he did not really want. As a rule, he was abstemious, but the hall was very hot. It struck him as glaring and tawdry after the quiet dale where the water sparkled among the stones; and the pallid loungers with their stamp of indulgence differed unpleasantly from the hard, brown-faced men he led.
“Let’s clear out,” he said at last. “Is there anywhere else to go?”
“My rooms,” Lance suggested.