From day to day, Challoner could see the demand for concrete increasing. He saw, too, that the price of brick was falling off, because concrete had awakened a new interest in the minds of the people, had aroused their enthusiasm. Plainly, Challoner was excited. He could see, could talk of nothing else. While Miriam was in the hospital he had begun to talk concrete with her; when she was convalescing and had returned to their rooms,—they had three now,—figuratively speaking, they had cement for breakfast and for supper. But it was his business now, and his whole mind was concentrated upon it.
And in all this there was a singular and valuable fact: Challoner was the only man in town,—literally the only man, because of the circumstances of the case,—outside of the contractors, who knew the business, and yet who had intelligence enough to understand the danger in concrete. Naturally, the contractors did not tell owners about graft. They did not warn their customers; they took chances; and needless to say, the owners themselves did not know.
Challoner was quick to seize his opportunity; besides, he was conscious that a duty rested upon him. Day and night he scanned the papers, and when he found a concrete contract recorded, he looked up the owner, saw him personally and told him facts. Of course, most of this was done at night and on holidays.
"You don't say so," the owner would respond, opening wide his eyes.
But Challoner mentioned no names; he merely outlined conditions. Some contractors, he acknowledged, were honest, perhaps most of them, but many were careless. And then the foremen on these jobs unquestionably were poorly paid. Surely the temptations were great.
"You don't say so," the owner would repeat.
And when the job started, this owner would put a competent man on to oversee it. Frequently it happened that this man was J. L. Challoner. The time came when he made five dollars a day. Moreover, the time came when many of the good concrete walls in town owed their strength to him.
But even though his time was full, and money was plentiful, it did not interfere with Challoner's interest in the evolution of concrete and concrete graft; nor was he slow to recognise its value to politicians; and so when the "ring"—for there was still a "ring" in spite of the efforts of Murgatroyd—sprang its little surprise, Challoner knew what was coming.
"A new concrete hospital," said the "ring," and saw in it the thin edge of the wedge, for they foresaw a new concrete jail. Possibly they could go still further: if they could educate the people up to it, they might have more new concrete city buildings.
However, the new concrete hospital came first. It was one-third finished when J. L. Challoner applied for, and secured a job as foreman of the mixing-gang on the east wing. The men who employed him did not know him; if they had, they would have dismissed him at once.