"Don't wonder," said Griffith. "What gets me, though, is the way this young Ashton, this lily-white lallapaloozer of a kid-glove C. E., came slipping in with his plans less than a month after the contest. I looked up the records."
"What were you doing, digging into that proposition?" demanded Blake.
"What d' you suppose? Ashton was slick enough to get an ironclad contract as Resident Engineer. His bridge plans are a wonder, but he's proved himself N. G. on construction work. Has to be told how to build his own bridge. I'm on as Consulting Engineer."
"You?" growled Blake. "You, working again for H. V. Leslie!"
"Give the devil his due, Tommy. He's sharp as tacks, but if you've got his name to a straightforward contract—"
"After he threw us down on the Q. T. survey?"
Griffith coughed and hesitated. "Well—now—look here, Tommy, you're not the kind to hold a grudge. Anyway, the bridge was turned over to the Coville Construction Company." He turned quickly to Lord James. "Say, what's that about his being in the papers? If it's anything to his credit, put me next, won't you? I couldn't pry it out of him with a crow-bar."
"So you're going to use a Jimmy instead, eh?" countered Blake.
"Right-o, Tammas," said Lord James. "We're going to open up the incident out of hand."
"Lord!" groaned Blake. He rose, flushing with embarrassment, and swung across, to stare at a blueprint in the far corner of the room.