Presently voices came to him, mostly a
sort of good-natured protest in monosyllables; then Thad's tones, low
enough to keep Gus from hearing.
"I tell you, Uncle, they're putting it over on you. It ain't any of my
business, but I hate to see you having your leg pulled."
"'Taint!" was the brief answer.
"Well, if you don't want to think so; but I know it. Look at this dam:
not over two feet thick and expected to hold tons of water. Wait till a
flood hits it. Will it go out like a stack of cards, or won't it? And
they're not using enough cement; one-fourth only with the sand."
"Grouting, broken stones," growled Mr. Hooper.
"Not sufficient, as you'll see. And does anybody want to say that a
two-inch pipe is going to run a water wheel with force enough to turn a
generator that will drive thirty or forty lights? Bosh!"
"They ought to know."
"You think they do, but have you any proof of it? What they don't know
would fill a libra--"
"How 'bout that there triang--what you call it? They knew that."
"Oh, just a draughtsman's smart trick; used to catch people. I'm talking
about things that are practical. You'll see. I'll bet you these blamed
fools are going to strike a snag one of these days, or they'll leave
things so that there'll be a fall-down. But what need they care after
they get their money?"
Bill heard footsteps retreating and dying away; Mr. Hooper went over to
Gus and, with evident hesitation, asked:
"Do you reckon you're makin' the stone work thick enough? It does look
most terrible weak.
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