At sight of Griffith's upcurving eyebrows, Lord James smiled resignedly and explained: "Quite true—as to His Grace, y'know. But I assure you that even in England I am legally only a commoner. It's only by courtesy—custom, you know—that I'm given my father's second title."
"That's all right, Mr. Scarbridge," assured Griffith, in turn. "Glad to meet you. Have a seat."
While the callers drew up chairs for themselves, he returned to his seat and hauled out a box of good cigars. Blake helped himself and passed the box to Lord James. Griffith took out an old pipe and proceeded to load it with rank Durham.
"Well?" he croaked, as he handed over a match-box. "What's the good word, Tommy?"
"Haven't you heard?" replied Blake. "I'm a hero, the real live article,—T. Blake, C. E. H. E., R. O.—Oh!"
"No joshing, you Injin," admonished Griffith, pausing with a lighted match above the bowl of his pipe.
Lord James gazed reproachfully at the grinning Blake. "He tries to belittle it, Mr. Griffith, but it's quite true. Haven't you seen about it in the press?"
"Too busy over this Arizona dam," said Griffith, jerking his pipe towards the drawings on his desk.
"What dam?" demanded Blake, bending forward, keenly alert.
"Zariba—big Arizona irrigation project. Simple as A, B, C, except the dam itself. That has stumped half a dozen of the best men. Promoters are giving me a try at it now. But I'm beginning to think I've bitten off more 'n I can chew."