my, far-away, sad sort of
expression, as if there had been a very sad and painful occurrence in
his family, way back in the past, and that piece of timber in some way
reminded him of it and brought the old sorrow home to him. He blinked
three times, and asked, in a subdued tone:

"Is that iron-bark?"

Jack Bentley, the fluent liar of the party, caught his breath with a
jerk and coughed, to cover the gasp and gain time. "I--iron-bark? Of
course it is! I thought you would know iron-bark, mister." (Mister was
silent.) "What else d'yer think it is?"

The dreamy, abstracted expression was back. The inspector, by-the-way,
didn't know much about timber, but he had a great deal of instinct, and
went by it when in doubt.

"L--look here, mister!" put in Dave Regan, in a tone of innocent
puzzlement and with a blank bucolic face. "B--but don't the plans and
specifications say iron-bark? Ours does, anyway. I--I'll git the papers
from the tent and show yer, if yer like."

It was not necessary. The inspector admitted the fact slowly. He
stooped, and with an absent air picked up a chip. He looked at it
abstractedly for a moment, blinked his threefold blink; then, seeming to
recollect an appointment, he woke up suddenly and asked briskly:

"Did this chip come off that girder?"

Blank silence. The inspector blinked six times, divided in threes,
rapidly, mounted his horse, said "Day," and rode off.

Regan and party stared at each other.

"Wha--what did he do that for?" asked Andy Page, the third in the party.

"Do what for, you fool?" enquired Dave.

"Ta--take that chip for?"

"He's taking it to the office!" snarled Jack Bentley.

"What--what for? What does he want to do that for?"

"To get it blanky well analysed! You ass! Now are yer satisfied?" And
Jack sat down hard on the timber, jerked out his pipe, and said to Dave,
in a sharp, toothache tone:

"Gimmiamatch!"

"We--well! what are we to do now?" enquired Andy, who was the hardest
grafter, but altogether helpless, hopeless, and useless in a crisis like
this.

"Grain and varnish the bloomin' culvert!" snapped Bentley.

But Dave's eyes, that had been ruefully following the inspector,
suddenly dilated. The inspector had ridden a short distance along the
line, dismounted, thrown the bridle over a post, laid the chip (which
was too big to go in his pocket) on top of it, got through the fence,
and was now walking back at an angle across the line in the direction
of