A Promising Officer

The lengthening shadows lay blue and cool beneath the alders by the
waterside, though the cornfields that rolled back up the hill glowed a
coppery yellow in the light of the setting sun. It was hot and, for the
most part, strangely quiet in the bottom of the valley since the hammers
had stopped, but now and then an order was followed by a tramp of feet
and the rattle of chain-tackle. Along one bank of the river the
reflections of the trees quivered in dark-green masses; the rest of the
water was dazzlingly bright.

A pontoon bridge, dotted with figures in khaki, crossed a deep pool. At
its head, where a white road ran down the hill, a detachment of engineers
lounged in the shade. Their faces were grimed with sweat and dust, and
some, with coats unbuttoned, sprawled in the grass. They had toiled hard
through the heat of the day, and now were enjoying an "easy," until they
should be called to attention when their work was put to the test.

As Lieutenant Richard Brandon stood where the curve was boldest at the
middle of the bridge, he had no misgivings about the result so far as the
section for which he was responsible was concerned. He was young, but
there was some ground for his confidence; for he not only had studied all
that text-books could teach him but he had the constructor's eye, which
sees half-instinctively where strength or weakness lies. Brandon began
his military career as a prize cadet and after getting his commission he
was quickly promoted from subaltern rank. His advancement, however,
caused no jealousy, for Dick Brandon was liked. He was, perhaps, a trifle
priggish about his work--cock-sure, his comrades called it--but about
other matters he was naïvely ingenuous. Indeed, acquaintances who knew
him only when he was off duty thought him something of a boy.