The ex-soldier's eyes brightened at the sight of his employer.
"Say, Mr. Gregory, you took me on quick and stayed by me, and I don't want you to think I don't appreciate it, for I do. Now that you've canned the other gang, I wonder if there'd be any chance for a couple of my pals. We've been drifting around together and their shoes is worn out same as mine."
"What can they do?"
"One of them's a chauffeur. He ain't afraid of nothin'. And he can drive anything on wheels. The other one's a steam-fitter by trade, but he'll be glad to nurse a broom or anything else right now."
Gregory was on the point of telling Barnes to wait until he had conferred with McCoy when he noticed the peculiar manner with which his employee held his broom.
"What's the matter with your arm?" he asked quietly.
Barnes tapped the member in question and regarded him somewhat doubtfully.
"Nothin'," he said.
Gregory stepped nearer and examined the shoulder carefully.
"Why didn't you tell me your arm had been hurt?" he asked in a low voice.