|Read Books Online, for Free The Bridge-Builders Mark Twain |
The Bridge-Builders Page 1 of 21
More Books More by this Author The least that Findlayson, of the Public Works Department, expected was a C.I.E.; he dreamed of a C.S.I. Indeed, his friends told him that he deserved more. For three years he had endured heat and cold, disappointment, discomfort, danger, and disease, with responsibility almost to top-heavy for one pair of shoulders; and day by day, through that time, the great Kashi Bridge over the Ganges had grown under his charge. Now, in less than three months, if all went well, his Excellency the Viceroy would open the bridge in state, an archbishop would bless it, and the first trainload of soldiers would come over it, and there would be speeches. Tired of reading? Add this page to your Bookmarks or Favorites and finish it later. Findlayson, C. E., turned on his trolley and looked over the face of the country that he had changed for seven miles around. Looked back on the humming village of five thousand work-men; up stream and down, along the vista of spurs and sand; across the river to the far piers, lessening in the haze; overhead to the guard-towers -and only he knew how strong those were - and with a sigh of contentment saw that his work was good. There stood his bridge before him in the sunlight, lacking only a few weeks' work on the girders of the three middle piers - his bridge, raw and ugly as original sin, but pukka - permanent - to endure when all memory of the builder, yea, even of the splendid Findlayson truss, has perished. Practically, the thing was done.