Hooker said to him one day: “Nash, you’re doing more work and better work with half the number of men than Macmillan did with a full crew—and in a third the time. There’s a hundred-dollar bonus coming to you for last month’s construction.”
The aqueduct being a municipal undertaking, the city of Los Angeles awarded a bonus each month to the foreman under whose direction more than the average amount of work was done. The thought that his gang had won out over all the others on the whole construction was a feather in Nash’s cap, and he felt as proud as though he had won a million. When the money was presented to him, he took it and distributed the sum among the men. Encouraged by this gift, they won for him the bonus during the following two months.
During all this period, devoting every thought to his work, Nash was irritated by Hooker’s peculiar manner—his sly questioning, veiled suggestions, and his continual drunken sprees. While no liquor was allowed in any of the camps, the foreman kept his own cabin well stocked, and when a man wanted a drink he knew just where to get it.
Realizing the exposure which would surely come, Nash spoke to the foreman about it, but gained nothing more than a wink and a slap on the back.
“What the devil, Nash!” he would say. “A man’s got to have a little recreation. I’m built for so much work and so much play. Nothing like a little redeye to cheer a fellow up. Blamed sorry you won’t join in the fun.”
“It’s against the city regulations,” Nash said. “The inspectors will get wise one of these days. Then your head will go in the basket.”
But Hooker waved aside all the arguments. “I’m running Camp Forty-seven, Nash, and I’m pretty particular as to who I’m treating. Besides, Sigsbee knows just what is going on—and he looks the other way. Oh, Sigsbee is a live one, he is.”
The mention of Sigsbee’s name brought a flood of recollections upon Nash. Hitherto he had fought shy of this man—the mysterious person who had signed the letter that gained him his position—not because he was afraid, but because he did not care to muddle up the affair should it come to answering questions.
Hooker took it for granted that Nash knew Sigsbee, and all his conversation was based on this fact. Many a time Nash was puzzled as to the proper answer to give when the subject was brought up, but so far had managed very nicely to thwart any suspicion which the foreman might have entertained. That it could not last forever, Nash knew well enough; but how it was to end, and where, and at what cost, was beyond the horizon.
Being on intimate terms with Hooker, Nash marveled at the system that prevailed in the matter of engaging help. The newcomer stood no chance in the world unless he brought with him a note signed with that magic name of Sigsbee. The common laborers, however, were the one exception to this ironbound rule.