Winter was not gone. In Canada the cold holds on stubbornly, but spring was not far off, and nobody had yet suggested his going back to the bridge. At the office his work, for the most part, was mechanical; he enlarged plans and marked templates for the machine shops. He felt he could not use his talents, and he got no chance to push ahead. Moreover, although he was in the evenings allowed to play dance tunes at the boarding-house, his landlady declared she would not stand for his practicing high-brow music. By and by a clerk crossed the floor.
“Looks as if you were in for it! The boss wants you!”
Kit’s heart beat. To be called to the office was ominous, but he believed the plans he had recently sent to the workshops were accurate. Besides, he had had enough at the bridge-works, and to be fired would not much bother him. He pushed back the door and saw Wheeler. Wheeler was burly and as a rule his look was hard, but sometimes when he talked to Kit his eyes twinkled. His hands were in his pockets and he chewed a cigar. Another gentleman behind a big desk looked up.
“You were a shipyard draftsman, Carson. You know something about working steel plates?”
Kit agreed and the manager gave him some plans.
“Railroad tanks. They’re large; the water’s alkaline and chemicals are used to precipitate the salts. What do you think about the plating?”
“If Carson states all he thinks, I expect the designer will get a jolt,” Wheeler remarked.
Kit wondered whether Wheeler’s joke carried a hint, but he did not know and he studied the plans.
“The construction’s cheap,” he said. “I suppose the pressure’s light?”
“The weight of the enclosed water; that’s all.”