"Ashton?" queried Griffith. "You don't mean Laffie Ashton?"
"He was down at the depot to give our party the glad hand."
"Your party?" repeated Griffith. He saw Blake wink at Lord James, and thought he understood. "I see. He knows Mr. Scarbridge, eh? It's like him, dropping his work and running down here, when he ought to stick by his bridge."
"His bridge?" asked Blake. "Say, he did blow about having landed the Michamac Bridge. But of course that's all hot air. He didn't even take part in the competition. Besides, you needn't tell me he's anything more than a joke as an engineer."
"Isn't he, though? After you pulled out the last time—after the competition,—he put in plans and got the Michamac Bridge."
"You're joking!" cried Blake. "He got it?—that gent!"
"You'll remember that all who took part in the competition failed on the long central span," said Griffith.
"No!" contradicted Blake. "I didn't. I tell you, it was just as I wrote you I'd do. I worked out a new truss modification. I'd have sworn my cantilever was the only one that could span Michamac Strait."
"And then to have your plans lost!" put in Griffith with keen sympathy beneath his dry croak. "Hell! That bridge would have landed you at the top of the ladder in one jump."
"Losing those plans landed me on a brake-beam, after my worst spree ever," muttered Blake.