"It suits me, Mr. More," declared Ralph. "And now, I want your good services of advice as to what I am expected to do, and what clothes I need."
Ralph left his friend, thoroughly posted as to his probable duties at the roundhouse. The agent advised him to purchase a cheap pair of jumpers, and wear old rough shoes and a thin pair of gloves the first day or two.
Ralph visited a dry-goods store, fitted himself out, and started for home.
He was absorbed in thinking and planning, and turning a corner thus engrossed almost ran into a pedestrian.
As he drew back and aside, a hand was suddenly thrust out and seized his arm in a vise-like grip.
"No, you don't!" sounded a strident voice. "I've got you at last, have I?"
In astonishment Ralph looked up, to recognize his self-announced captor. It was Gasper Farrington.
[CHAPTER VIII--THE OLD FACTORY]
Ralph pulled loose from the grasp of the crabbed old capitalist, fairly indignant at the sudden onslaught.
"Don't you run! don't you run!" cried Farrington, swinging his cane threateningly.