CHAPTER II
From a hilltop Marie Louise saw below her in panorama an ugly mess of land and riverscape––a large steel shed, a bewilderment of scaffolding, then a far stretch of muddy flats spotted with flies that were probably human beings, among a litter of timber, of girders, of machine-shanties, of railroad tracks, all spread out along a dirty water.
A high wire fence surrounded what seemed to need no protection. In the neighborhood were numbers of workmen’s huts––some finished, and long rows of them in building, as much alike and as graceful as a pan of raw biscuits.
She saw it all as it was, with a stranger’s eyes. Davidge saw it with the eyes a father sees a son through, blind to evident faults, vividly accepting future possibilities as realities.
Davidge said, with repressed pride:
“Well, thar she blows!”
“What?”
“My shipyard!” This with depressed pride.
“Oh, rilly! So it is! How wonderful!” This with forced enthusiasm.