"Why not?" asked Blake with well-feigned surprise.
"Why, of course if—You see, it's—it's rather unexpected," Ashton sought to explain as he regained assurance. "Old Griffith wrote me about the way you had put through the Zariba Dam. After that I never dreamed you'd accept any position as Assistant."
"Well, I like to please Grif," was Blake's easy reply. "He's been worrying because office work uses me up. Nothing suits me better than an outdoor job, and I happened to take a fancy to your bridge the other time I came. It's a good deal like those plans of mine that got mislaid. Of course you can't know that."
"No, of course not!" assented Ashton, moistening his lower lip.
"Course not," repeated Blake. "So I can't blame you if you find it hard to believe that my plans would have been accepted before you drew yours if they hadn't been mislaid."
"Then you—no longer accuse Mr. Leslie of—having taken them?" Ashton ventured to ask.
"Couldn't prove it on him, could I? No use baa-ing over spilt milk.
Well, you understand I'm on the job now; I've accepted the offer."
"Ye-es," reluctantly admitted Ashton. "Not that I see the use. There's no need for another engineer."
"That's no lie. One engineer is enough," said Blake dryly. "You sure proved yourself one when you planned this little old cantilever. However, I'm short of cash. I'll hang around and do what I can. May be able to save you bother by carrying orders out to McGraw or checking over reports for you."
He picked up the vellum-cloth drawings of the central span and some of the blueprints, and began in a matter-of-fact manner to roll them up.