SERGEANT DUFFY'S LITTLE GAME

The bad weather so long expected finally arrived. An afternoon of
soft, warm autumn skies, aglow with the radiance of the setting
sun, and brilliant in violet and gold, had been followed by a
cold, gray morning. Of a sudden a cloud the size of a hand had
mounted clear of the horizon, and called together its fellows. An
unseen herald in the east blew a blast, and winds and sea awoke.

By nine o'clock a gale was blowing. By ten Babcock's men were
bracing the outer sheathing of the coffer-dam, strengthening the
derrick-guys, tightening the anchor-lines, and clearing the
working-platforms of sand, cement, and other damageable property.
The course-masonry, fortunately, was above the water-line, but the
coping was still unset and the rubble backing of much of the wall
unfinished. Two weeks of constant work were necessary before that
part of the structure contained in the first section of the
contract would be entirely safe for the coming winter. Babcock
doubled his gangs, and utilized every hour of low water to the
utmost, even when the men stood waist-deep. It was his only hope
for completing the first section that season. After that would
come the cold, freezing the mortar, and ending everything.

Tom Grogan performed wonders. Not only did she work her teams far
into the night, but during all this bad weather she stood
throughout the day on the unprotected dock, a man's sou'wester
covering her head, a rubber waterproof reaching to her feet. She
directed every boat-load herself, and rushed the materials to the
shovelers, who stood soaking wet in the driving rain.