"Oh, the boss?"
"Yes, sir--Mr. Forgan."
"You mean Tim. He's in the dog house, I guess. Was, last I saw of him."
Ralph went to the dog house. At a rough board nailed to the wall, and answering for a desk, a big-shouldered, gruff-looking man of about fifty was scanning the daily running sheet.
Two of the loungers, firemen, knew Ralph slightly, and nodded to him. He went up to one of them.
"Is that Mr. Forgan?" he inquired in a low tone.
"That's him," nodded the fireman--"and in his precious best temper this morning, too!"
Ralph approached the fierce-visaged master of his fate.
"Mr. Forgan," he said.
The foreman looked around at him, and scowled.