He
was yarning away to me about praying to the dome of St. Paul's when he
was in London."
"He told me that the first time he went into the engine-room of a
steamer, when he was a boy, he prayed to the low-pressure cylinder."
"Not half a bad thing to pray to, either. He's propitiating his own Gods
now, and he wants to know what Mother Gunga will think of a bridge
being run across her. Who's there?" A shadow darkened the doorway, and a
telegram was put into Hitchcock's hand.
"She ought to be pretty well used to it by this time. Only a tar. It
ought to be Ralli's answer about the new rivets. . . . Great Heavens!"
Hitchcock jumped to his feet.
"What is it?" said the senior, and took the form. "That's what Mother
Gunga thinks, is it," he said, reading. "Keep cool, young 'un. We've
got all our work cut out for us. Let's see. Muir wired half an hour ago:
'Floods on the Ramgunga. Look out.' Well, that gives us--one, two--nine
and a half for the flood to reach Melipur Ghaut and seven's sixteen and
a half to Lataoli--say fifteen hours before it comes down to us."
"Curse that hill-fed sewer of a Ramgunga! Findlayson, this is two months
before anything could have been expected, and the left bank is littered
up with stuff still. Two full months before the time!"
"That's why it comes.
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