“What is it you want done?” queried Fandor, delighted at the opportunity that offered of earning a few sous.
“You’ll soon see,” the other replied with a shrug. “It’s not difficult and it’s not fatiguing. At this end of the road coming from the Pré Catalan—you know, the road that joins the one round the lake yonder—we’re removing the wire fencing that divides the avenue from the grass lawns that border the lake all round. We’re taking up the curb of the roadway, too. The turf’s to be dug up and laid down again at the sides; in fact, we’re making a road, so to say, going straight down to the water’s edge, so as the grandees may get out of their carriages at the very same spot where they’re to get into the boats. You see, don’t you, we couldn’t begin the works yesterday evening, nor yet this morning, nor even this afternoon, because that would block the regular road.”
What cared Jérôme Fandor for these details? He followed the head roadman and soon reached the roadway that was to be carried on right up to the very edge of the lake. There, by the light of acetylene lamps fixed on tall standards, a whole crew of labourers was busily engaged.
“Stand to!” shouted the ganger, “I’m bringing you a new chum, find him some easy work.” A second ganger came running up, and looked Fandor up and down, then:
“You’re not a roadman? no? You don’t understand gardening, neither? so much the worse! I am going to use you for digging up the road then. Come this way.” He led Fandor to the middle of the causeway that goes round the lake.
“Look here,” he explained, “so’s to lengthen out the roadway, we take up the turf of the lawn, using a spade—very carefully so’s not to spoil it. We’re going to sand over and beat flat and so make a bit of road down to the lake; but as the carriages will arrive from the Pré Catalan, where tea’s to be served at five o’clock, it’s not worth while, you see, to leave the road that circles the lake still practicable. Accordingly, we take the turf lifted from over there and lay it down all across the lake road. As the sods are lifted carefully one by one, it’s only a question of laying ’em one beside the other, a drop of water and the grass’ll look quite green. That’ll give the impression, not that a new way has been specially opened down to the lake, but rather that the regular road from the Pré Catalan continues straight on to the water’s edge, passing through a grass-plot, the ordinary grass-plot, the one we are now after extending.”
Fandor nodded his comprehension and waiting till the other had finished, asked:
“Then my job is to pick up the sods and lay ’em down side by side across the road round the lake? so as to extend the grass lawn?”
“That’s the ticket, my lad! and try to work lively, won’t you?”
Fandor had been at work ten minutes when another man, an engineer most likely, appeared from behind a clump of trees; he was elegantly, yet quietly dressed. Hailing one of the gangers: