“Are the ends much short?”
“Maybe an inch, but we can’t spring the frames. I’ve sent for jacks and the chain tackle. Looks as if the outside lug wasn’t plumb in line——”
“Get to it,” said Austin. “I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
The other went off, and Kit was sorry Wheeler was not about. He thought a screw pile carrying a column had sunk. The brace the men tried to fix would support the column, but the bolts must reach the holes. A bridge is not geometrically accurate and one must sometimes spring a member to its place. In a snowstorm, however, to force the stiff frames to meet would be hard.
“Stop by the stove,” he said. “As soon as I think we win out, I’ll send you word.”
“I’m going,” Austin rejoined. “When Wheeler’s not around I’m in control. Besides, if I go sick when I’m wanted, the company would be entitled to keep me at the office. I can’t risk it.”
They disputed, but Austin was firm and Kit helped him pull on his thick clothes. When he picked up Austin’s slicker he saw the back was torn.
“A bolt end,” said Austin. “I helped the boys throw some heavy stuff from a trolley.”
“Take my coat,” said Kit, and when he put on Austin’s he turned his head and smiled.
In a way, Bob’s obstinacy was justified, for the man who makes good is the man who is where he is wanted; but Kit began to see a plan. He had stated that he was Austin’s understudy, and the torn slicker was his cue. The tear was conspicuous and was made when the men were about. Now, however, Kit had got the coat, the night was dark, and the snow was thick. If Austin were knocked out, Kit thought he could play his part.