ast letter. When he was not
thinking of undercurrents or expanded metal riffles or wondering
anxiously if the 10-inch and 8-inch pumps were going to raise sufficient
water, or if the foundation built on piling, instead of cement, was
"good enough," Bruce was thinking of the girl he loved.

She had written in her last letter--Bruce knew them all by heart--

I had a visitor yesterday. You will be as surprised, when I tell
you who it was, as I was to see him. Have you guessed? I'm sure
you haven't. None other than our friend Sprudell--very
apologetic--very humble and contrite, and with an explanation to
offer for his behavior that was really most ingenious. There's
no denying he has cleverness of a kind--craft, perhaps, is a
better word.

His humility was touching but so unlike him that I should have
been alarmed if he had not been so obviously sincere.

Nevertheless his visit has upset me. I've been worried ever
since. Perhaps you'll only laugh at me when I tell you that it
is because I am afraid for _you_. Truly I am! I don't know that
I can explain exactly so you'll understand but there was
something disturbing which I _felt_ when he spoke quite casually
of you. It was almost too intangible to put into words but it
was like a gloating secret satisfaction, as though he had the
best of you in some way, the whip-hand.

It may be just a silly notion, one of those fears that pop into
one's head in the most inexplicable way and stick, refusing to
be driven out by any amount of logic. Tell me, is there anything
that he can do to you? Any way that he can harm you?

I am nervous--_anxious_--and I cannot help it.

She was anxious about him! That fact was paramount. Somebody in the
world was worrying over _him_. He stopped short in the trail with fresh
wonder of it. Every time he thought of it, it gave him a thrill. His
face, that had been set in tired, harsh lines of late, softened with a
smile of happiness.

And he did so long to give her substantial evidence of his gratitude. If
that machinery ever started--if the scrapers ever got to hauling
dirt--her reward, his reward, would come quick. That was one of the
compensating features of mining; if the returns came at all they came
quick. Bruce started on, hastening his footsteps until he almost ran.

The electrical genius was driving a nail with a spirit-level when Bruce
reached the