None of the things he had
gained in the least compensated. In the last six years his reputation
had become, as the saying is, popular. Four years ago he had been called
to Japan to deliver, at the Emperor's request, a course of lectures
at the Imperial University, and had instituted reforms throughout the
islands, not only in the practice of bridge-building but in drainage and
road-making. On his return he had undertaken the bridge at Moorlock,
in Canada, the most important piece of bridge-building going on in
the world,--a test, indeed, of how far the latest practice in bridge
structure could be carried. It was a spectacular undertaking by reason
of its very size, and Bartley realized that, whatever else he might do,
he would probably always be known as the engineer who designed the great
Moorlock Bridge, the longest cantilever in existence. Yet it was to him
the least satisfactory thing he had ever done. He was cramped in every
way by a niggardly commission, and was using lighter structural material
than he thought proper. He had vexations enough, too, with his work at
home. He had several bridges under way in the United States, and they
were always being held up by strikes and delays resulting from a general
industrial unrest.
Though Alexander often told himself he had never put more into his work
than he had done in the last few years, he had to admit that he had
never got so little out of it. He was paying for success, too, in the
demands made on his time by boards of civic enterprise and committees
of public welfare.
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