Through these latter days, during which the scales had been
dropping from his eyes in spite of prejudice, he had been forced into
a grudging admiration of the man's capability. Brayley could read
little and spell less; he was a clown and a boor in the matter of the
finer, exacting social traditions; but he could run a cattle-range,
and he read his men as other men read books. Conniston realized
suddenly, shocked with the realization, that in Brayley there was that
same sort of thing which he had come to respect in Argyl Crawford, the
same open frankness, the same straightforward honesty, the same deep,
wide generosity.
Argyl, too, entered into the confusion of his gladness and
disappointment at the coming change of sphere. He had planned to spend
many an evening with her; and now, just as he was finding the door to
her comradeship opened to him, he was to be whisked away from her.
But on the other hand Conniston's optimism saw ahead of him, in the
new field of work, the dim, shadowy, and at the same time alluring
outline of a new and rare opportunity. He had not forgotten the things
which Mr. Crawford had said of his big project. And in spite of his
own deprecatory answer to Mr. Crawford's straightforward question,
Greek Conniston had not forgotten all of the engineering he had
absorbed during four years in the university. There was work to be
done, there were men wanted, above all, men who could understand
something beyond the pick-and-shovel end of the thing, men who knew
the difference between a transit and a telescope.
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