"It's very possible," Ida agreed with a hint of dryness. "I want you to show him what it means; make him feel the sense of power over material. Jake's rather boyish, and a boy loves to fire a gun because something startling happens in obedience to his will when he pulls the trigger. Isn't it much the same when one gives the orders that shatter massive rocks and move ponderous stones? However, that's not all. I want you to keep him at the dam and prevent his making undesirable friends." "Though it's not the thing I'm cut out for, I'll try," said Dick, with some hesitation. "I'm surprised that you should put your brother in my charge, after what you know about me." "You were unfortunate, negligent, perhaps, for once." "The trouble is that my friends and relations seemed to think me dishonest. At least, they believed that my getting into disgrace was quite as bad." "I don't," said Ida calmly. "What I ask will need some tact, but if you'll promise to look after Jake, I shall feel satisfied." Dick was silent for the next few moments, watching the phosphorescent foam stream back from the launch's bows. Then he said: "Thank you, Miss Fuller. In a way, it's embarrassing to feel you trust me; but I'll do what I can to deserve it." Three or four minutes afterwards the launch steamed round the liner's stern and ran into the gloom beneath her tall side. There was a blaze of light above that fell upon the farthest off of the row of boats, past which the launch ran with her engine stopped, and the dark water broke into a fiery sparkle as the swell lapped the steamer's plates. A man came down the ladder when the launch jarred against its foot, and Ida, finding that Fuller was still on board, went up while Dick steamed across to the cargo-boat that lay with winches hammering not far off. After talking to her mate, he returned to the harbor, and when he landed, lighted a cigarette and studied some alterations that were being made at the landward end of the mole. He had noticed the work as he passed with Ida, but was now able to examine it. A number of concrete blocks and cement bags were lying about. Beckoning a peon who seemed to be the watchman, Dick gave him a cigarette and asked: "How far are they going to re-face the mole?" "As far as the post yonder, senor." It was obvious that a large quantity of cement would be required and Dick resumed: "Who is doing the work?" "Don Ramon Oliva." Dick hid his interest. Ramon Oliva was the man he had seen talking to Fuller's storekeeper at the hotel. "Where does one buy cement in this town?" "Senor Vaz, the merchant, sells it now and then." Dick let the peon go, and leaving the mole, found Vaz in a cafe. Sitting down at his table he asked: "Do you keep cement in your warehouse?" "Sometimes," said the other; "when work it is required for is going on. But I sold the last I had two or three months ago."