Untitled - UBC Library - University of British Columbia

-UNIV RswdBt4
The Bridge of The Gods
(‘%F course, it may be all just imagination on my part. But Rudde is a
‘—‘ civil engineer of the most practical turn of mind; he even takes his
holidays in that prosaic fashion so exasperating to the happy-go-lucky
vacationist who would be a gypsy if he could afford it. And even Rudde
seemed to feel that there was something rather out of the ordinary about
that stranger.
Rudde builds bridges, and though I know nothing about the
practical science of bridge-building, I understand from those who do
that he is good at his job. Several years ago he did a big job in the south
somewhere, and motored north along the coast highway for a holiday.
He was, he averred, intensely unwilling to see, hear, or touch anything
appertaining to his work for months to come. But you know how it is
with these enthusiasts; before half his well-planned, thoroughly enjoy
able trip was over, Rudde was longing to be back on the job. He was
travelling at that time through northern Oregon and south-western
Washington—marvellous country, heavily forested, wild, but flecked
with long slopes of green farm-lands. And he discovered that somewhere
along his route a great new bridge was being erected across a difficult
rapids. Of course he had to make camp there and look the layout over,
as he explained later—homesick.
It was a magnificent spot, even according to Rudde’s prosaic eye.
The banks were high and jagged, the rapids were swift at that point,
torn and angry. Rudde strolled along the bank about sunset, only
pleasantly tired after a long day of driving. The dark trees were fringed
with gold from the western sunlight, and the river seemed to rustle more
gently. On a little point he stopped, looking up at the new outworks
(or whatever the preliminary foundations of a bridge are called) and
meditating that the contractors had rather a nasty job ahead of them.
It wasn’t the first attempt, either. Gray skeletons of buildings and works
were slowly toppling toward the river-bed near the rapids—monuments
of old defeat. Rudde looked at it all, shading his eyes from the long
rays of sun. And suddenly he realized that someone was standing and
watching with him. A very tall, grave-eyed fellow, Rudde noticed—
with a fair beard.
You interested in construction?” Rudde asked in friendly fashion.
The stranger’s eyes were fixed on the big bridge.
I? Oh— yes— very much.” The man seemed concentrated on
something else—his eyes looked through Rudde when he turned to him.
At least— I was once.”
That’s some job they’ve got there,” Rudde continued, wondering
what manner of man this might be. His companion nodded slowly.
(Con tinne1 on Page Two Hn,itlreil and Three)
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