Hartopp's face three weeks later, when the shame had
marked it. His bridge was twice the size of Hartopp's, and it carried
the Findlayson truss as well as the new pier-shoe--the Findlayson bolted
shoe. There were no excuses in his service. Government might listen,
perhaps, but his own kind would judge him by his bridge, as that stood
or fell. He went over it in his head, plate by plate, span by span,
brick by brick, pier by pier, remembering, comparing, estimating, and
recalculating, lest there should be any mistake; and through the long
hours and through the flights of formulae that danced and wheeled before
him a cold fear would come to pinch his heart. His side of the sum was
beyond question; but what man knew Mother Gunga's arithmetic? Even as
he was making all sure by the multiplication-table, the river might be
scooping a pot-hole to the very bottom of any one of those eighty-foot
piers that carried his reputation. Again a servant came to him with
food, but his mouth was dry, and he could only drink and return to the
decimals in his brain. And the river was still rising. Peroo, in a mat
shelter-coat, crouched at his feet, watching now his face and now the
face of the river, but saying nothing.

At last the Lascar rose and floundered through the mud towards the
village, but he was careful to leave an ally to watch the boats.

Presently he returned, most irreverently driving before him the priest
of his creed--a fat old man, with a grey beard that whipped the wind
with the wet cloth that blew over his shoulder. Never was seen so
lamentable a guru.

"What good are offerings and little kerosene lamps and dry grain,"
shouted Peroo, "if squatting in the mud is all that thou canst do? Thou
hast dealt long with the Gods when they were contented and well-wishing.
Now they are angry. Speak to them!"

"What is a man against the wrath of Gods?" whined the priest, cowering
as the wind took him. "Let me go to the temple, and I will pray there."

"Son of a pig, pray here! Is there no return for salt fish and curry
powder and dried onions? Call aloud! Tell Mother Gunga we have had
enough. Bid her be still for the night. I cannot pray, but I have been
serving in the Kumpani's boats, and when men did not obey my orders I--"
A flourish of the wire-rope colt rounded the sentence, and the priest,
breaking free from his disciple, fled to the village.

"Fat pig!" said Peroo. "After all that we have done for him! When the
flood is