Brandon of the Engineers by Harold Bindloss

One morning, soon after Fuller and his daughter had gone home, Dick stood at a table in the testing house behind the mixing sheds. The small, galvanized iron building shook with the throb of engines and rattle of machinery, and now and then a shower of cinders pattered upon the roof; for the big mill that ground up the concrete was working across the road. The lattice shutters were closed, for the sake of privacy, and kept out the glare, though they could not keep out the heat, which soaked through the thin, iron walls, and Dick's face was wet with perspiration as he arranged a number of small concrete blocks. Some of these were broken, and some partly crushed. Delicate scales and glass measures occupied a neighboring shelf, and a big steel apparatus that looked rather like a lever weighing machine stood in the shadow.

Where the draught that came through the lattices flowed across the room, Bethune lounged in a canvas chair, and another man, with a quiet, sunburned face, sat behind him. This was Stuyvesant, whose authority was only second to Fuller's.