Nash was the least surprised of the crowd. He had read the signs in the peculiar ring of the concrete. He knew it was too soft to stand the tons of water; he had been helpless before the subforeman’s authority. Now, smiling a little at the scared face of Macmillan, he stood vindicated.
After the excitement had died away, Hooker looked at Nash.
“I guess you were right, after all,” he said quietly.
Macmillan recovered sufficiently to defend himself. “This isn’t the first conduit that’s bursted,” he cried. “Accidents will happen. I tell you, that cement was sound as a dollar.”
Hooker turned to face him. “I suppose, after Nash warned you, you examined the length of conduit very carefully?”
Macmillan flushed and stammered. “Well, not exactly,” he said, conscious of his predicament. “But I—knew—knew there——”
“You mean, you thought you knew—isn’t that it?” Hooker interrupted sternly. “You hated to admit your ignorance. To tell the truth, Mac, there’s been altogether too many of these tests turning failures—too much time and money wasted. The engineer in chief is complaining. I can’t be everywhere, so I trusted you. You’ve fallen down. I’m sorry, Mac, but you’d better drop over to the shack in the morning and get your money.”
The subforeman tossed his head indifferently. “Fired, eh? Well, maybe it’s for the best. When it comes to taking a white-fingered kid’s advice and ignoring mine, I give up.”
He turned on his heel and strode away.
Five minutes later Hooker and Nash were walking slowly back toward camp and headquarters. Neither had spoken for the interval. Finally Hooker said bluntly: