His bridge was twice the size of
Hartopp's, and it carried the Findlayson truss as well as the new
pier-shoe--the Findlayson bolted shoe. There were no excuses in his
service. Government might listen, perhaps, but his own kind would
judge him by his bridge, as that stood or fell. He went over it in his
head, plate by plate, span by span, brick by brick, pier by pier,
remembering, comparing, estimating, and recalculating, lest there
should be any mistake; and through the long hours and through the
nights of formulae that danced and wheeled before him, a cold fear
would come to pinch his heart. His side of the sum was beyond
question; but what man knew Mother Gunga's arithmetic? Even as he was
making all sure by the multiplication-table, the river might be
scooping pot-holes to the very bottom of any one of those eighty-foot
piers that carried his reputation. Again a servant came to him with
food, but his mouth was dry, and he could only drink and return to the
decimals in his brain. And the river was still rising. Peroo, in a mat
shelter-coat, crouched at his feet, watching now his face and now the
face of the river, but saying nothing.

At last the lascar rose and floundered through the mud toward the
village, but he was careful to leave an ally to watch the boats.

Presently he returned, most irreverently driving before him the
priest of his creed--a fat old man with a gray beard that whipped the
wind with the wet cloth that blew over his shoulder. Never was seen so
lamentable a _guru_.

"What good are offerings and little kerosene lamps and dry grain,"
shouted Peroo, "if squatting in the mud is all that thou canst do?
Thou hast dealt long with the Gods when they were contented and
well-wishing. Now they are angry. Speak to them!"

"What is a man against the wrath of Gods?" whined the priest, cowering
as the wind took him. "Let me go to the temple, and I will pray
there."

"Son of a pig, pray _here_! Is there no return for salt fish and curry
powder and dried onions? Call aloud! Tell Mother Gunga we have had
enough. Bid her be still for the night. I cannot pray, but I have
served in the Kumpani's boats, and when men did not obey my orders
I----" A flourish of the wire-rope colt rounded the sentence, and the
priest, breaking from his disciple, fled to the village.

"Fat pig!" said Peroo. "After all that we have done for him! When the
flood is down I will see to it that we get a new _guru_. Finlinson
Sahib, it da