It was still pelting away the next morning, when Jack,
alarmed at its fury, bolted his breakfast, and, donning his
oilskins and rubber boots, hurried to the brick office from whose
front windows he could get a view of the fill, the culvert, and
the angry stream, and from whose rear windows could be seen half a
mile up the raging torrent, the curve of the unfinished embankment
flanking one side of the new boulevard which McGowan was building
under a contract with the village.
Hardly had he slipped off his boots and tarpaulins when
MacFarlane, in mackintosh and long rubber boots, splashed in:
"Breen," said his Chief, loosening the top button of his storm
coat and threshing the water from his cap:
Jack was on his feet in an instant:
"Yes, sir."
"I wish you would take a look at the boulevard spillway. I know
McGowan's work and how he skins it sometimes, and I'm getting
worried. Coggins says the water is backing up, and that the slopes
are giving way. You can see yourself what a lot of water is coming
down--" here they both gazed through the open window.
Pages:
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387