“Yes.”
“I’d rather stay here in the office and handle that Winchester when the mob comes,” observed the tramp.
“You can do ten times as much good doing what I want you to do.”
“Will it have anything to do with knocking out Dorsett’s plans?”
“Everything.”
The tramp arose to his feet like a jumping jack, his face wearing an eager grin.
“Guv’nor,” he said, “I’d trust you in most anything. I’d like to have a front seat out here to see the fun when the show begins, but if my being behind the scenes helps, depend on me.”
“I do,” said Ralph. “You go with Mr. Bartlett.”
Ralph sat down as the two men disappeared. He listened attentively to the sounds from the melting room. Soon the big blast chimney began to roar, and glancing out of the window Ralph could see fitful red gleams shoot out upon the snow.
There was a speaking tube running from the office to Bartlett’s post of duty. Soon it whistled, and the foreman announced: