He had a joke or a picturesque sarcasm for everyone, and the men were aware that his lightness was not a disguise for cowardice. They remembered that when two of them had fought with picks, he had jumped into the ditch between them. He could now walk up to drunken brutes of far superior bulk and take away their weapons, and often their tempers. He composed quarrels with a laugh or leaped in with a quick slash of his fist on the nearest nose. People said to RoBards: “Fine lad, Harry Chalender, great friend of yours, isn’t he? Plucky devil, too.” That was hard to deny without an ugly explanation. It would have been peculiarly crass to sneer or snarl at a man held in favor for courage. So the tradition prospered that Chalender and RoBards were cronies. It was a splendid mask for the ancient resentment. And by and by the disguise became the habitual wear, the feelings adapted themselves to their clothes. He would have felt naked without them. RoBards had to shake himself now and then to remind himself that he was growing not only tolerant of Chalender, but fond of him. This was not entirely satisfactory to Patty. She had a woman’s terrified love of conflict in her behalf. A woman who sees a man slain on her account suffers beyond doubt, but there is a glory in her martyrdom. Patty’s intrigue had ended in a disgusting armistice, a smirking truce. It was comfortable to have a husband and a home, but it was ignominious to have the husband at peace with the intruder. * * * * * The aqueduct was all the while growing, a vast cubical stone serpent increasing bone by bone and scale by scale. It still lacked a head, and RoBards the lawyer like a tiny Siegfried continued to assail the dragon everywhere, seeking a mortal spot. The Croton dam was yet to be built, as well as two big bridges and two great reservoirs in the city. It grew plain that the seven miles within the island of Manhattan would cost nearly as much as the original estimates for the whole forty-six. And the times were cruelly hard. The estimates rose as the difficulty of raising money increased. Four and a half million dollars were disbursed without the error of a cent, and the devotion and dogged heroism of all the water army won even RoBards’ admiration. By the beginning of 1841 thirty-two miles were finished, including Harry Chalender’s section. He was called next to aid the work of completing the dam. A new lake now submerged four hundred acres of hills and vales with a smooth sheet of water. Then the laborers on the upper line struck for higher wages and marched down the aqueduct, driving away or gathering into their own ranks all the workmen they met. They overawed the rural police, but when the Mayor of New York called out the militia, the laborers were forced back to their jobs.