“They might serve as material,” he answered drily. “Two of their overseers and twenty men asked for berths with me. They are mostly Italians. If we keep them to make our encampment, I shall have to go myself. It is rather odd how these men pick things up. I heard––” he broke off abruptly.
“We didn’t,” remarked Cæsar suggestively after a minute.
“It was not much, but it is funny how a nick-name travels. There were about five hundred men there still, and I heard one say as I passed, ‘Ecco il ‘Roadmaker.’’”
He was evidently boyishly pleased at the recognition, though he did not conclude the sentence. The 306 man had saluted him as he added to his comrade, “C’é un maestro d’uomini, non di brutti.”
Patricia gave Cæsar a quick look and caught his answer. It was as if some sudden bond of sympathy were tied between them.
Cæsar continued skilfully to ply Christopher with questions and extracted the information that the Patrimondi Company was much disliked by the big manufacturing powers.
“They say we spoil our men, and their own grumble. They sent me a deputation to ask us to cancel the Sunday holiday, which they never grant on contract work, and they feared the result of our example.”
“And you politely agreed?” suggested Cæsar, watching Patricia.
“I told them to––” again he stopped and laughed; “well, Patricia, I told them such was the time-honoured custom of my country and regretted my inability to consider their request.”
“I expect they only get into mischief on Sunday.”