"Our—our daily reports to the company!" he gurgled. "President Sturdevant wants every day's detail. Let's put it all in. 'I have the honor to report that while your engineers were stoking with burgoo and black-currant pie, Garrison Dredge Number Three was observed to be on fire. Your engineers, assisted by their partners, said engineers' wife and sister, all of whom displayed conspicuous bravery, attacked the fire. Thanks to their heroic efforts, the conflagration was extinguished. I beg further to report that damages are confined to one pile of waste, one smooched pink silk scarf, and'"—he passed his hand over his smutty forehead—"'and one pair of eyebrows.'"
"I'm going straight home to bed," vowed Marian, as the laughter died away in exhausted chuckles. "This day has brought so many thrilling events that it will take me at least a week to calm myself down. Do let us hope that nothing whatever will happen for a while. I'm longing for monotony—days, months, ages of monotony, at that!"
And, even as she spoke, there was a shout from the pier. Mulcahy came running toward them at top speed.
"Will you look at Mulcahy, sprinting up from the ditch! I'll wager he has some more bad news for us. Come, Hallowell. Hurry!"
CHAPTER IX
THE MAGIC LEAD-PENCIL
"Bad news, is it?" puffed Mulcahy. "Indeed, sir, I'm sorry to be the one to bring it to you. Lateral Four has caved in again."
"Lateral Four! The cut where we've spent more time and work, filling in, than we've spent anywhere else on the whole ditch!"
"Yes, Lateral Four. The ungrateful piece of fill she is! And when you have shored up the margins with brush, twice over!"
"How far up is the cave-in, Mulcahy?"