Carhart had time only to wash his face and hands before rejoining the party at the car steps. His clothing was downright disreputable, and he wanted the physique, the height and breadth and muscle display, which alone can give distinction to rough garments. Even his clean-cut face and reserved, studious expression were not positive features, and could hardly triumph over the obvious facts of his dress. Mrs. Chambers and the young women again glanced toward him, and again they had nothing to say to him. To the truth that this ugly, noisy scene was a resolving dissonance in the harmony of things, that this rough person in spectacles was heroically forging a link in the world’s girdle, these women were blind. They had been curious to come; and now that they were here and were conscious of the dirtiness and meanness of the hundreds of men about them, now that the gray hopelessness of the desert was getting on their nerves, they were eager to go back. And so the bell rang, the driving-wheels spun around, slipping under the coughing engine, the car began to rumble forward, the ladies bowed, the vice-president, taking a last look at things from the rear platform, nodded a good-by, and the incident was closed. * * * * * There were a number of things for Carhart to attend to after he had eaten supper and dressed, and before he could get away,--some of which will have to find a place in a later chapter,--and it was eleven o’clock at night when he finally put aside his maps and reports. He then wrote a note to Scribner, telling the engineer of the second division that the last report of his pile inspector was not satisfactory,--the third bent in the trestle over Tiffany Hollow on “mile fifty-two” showed insufficient resistance. He left for Young Van’s attention a pile of letters with memoranda for the replies. He sent for Old Van, and went over with him the condition of the work on the first division. And finally he wrote the following letter to John Flint:-- DEAR JOHN: I’m sending forward to-morrow the extra cable and the wheelers you asked for. I have to run back to Sherman to-night, possibly for a week or so, but there’ll be time enough to look over your plans for cutting and filling on the west bank when I get back. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I’m inclined to agree with you that we can make more of a fill there. But I’ll write you again about it. Thanks to our friend Peet I nearly killed Texas on a ride for water. Got to have another riding horse sent out here. My assistant’s pony had to be shot--that little brown beauty I pointed out to you the morning you started, with the white star. Yours, P. C.