"I beat my record by twenty feet to-day," the Lark told him, with a cheerful grin, as he handed Conniston a soiled bit of paper. "I'm hot on the trail of my bonus, take it from me."
That evening Conniston spent with Tommy Garton. He did not even take the time to call on Argyl. He told the little fellow what had happened, received a hearty grip of the hand which meant more to him than a wordy congratulation, laid what few plans he had had time to outline before him, and asked his advice upon them.
"I want the plans and specifications for Dam Number One, Tommy."
Garton took them from a drawer and passed them across the table.
"I will look over them on the job to-morrow. And I want to know how long you think it will take to get that dam built when once we get to work on it?"
"I don't see how it can be done and done right," Garton answered, promptly, "in much less than thirty days. You might be able to do a temporary job of it—put in a bulwark that would do until we could get water down here and live up to our contract—and then build the real dam after the first of October. That might be done in less time."
"How big a shift of men were you planning on putting to work up there?"
"Two hundred. You couldn't use more than that. There isn't room. They'd get in one another's way."
Conniston sat frowning moodily, his fingers tapping the roll of blue-prints in his hands.
"Isn't there any way," he asked suddenly, swinging upon Garton, "of making a go of this without building that dam?"