“Want to see a genuine Sheffield?” asked Mr. Prescott, putting his hand into his pocket.
That time he didn’t have to attract Billy’s attention, for Billy stood waiting.
“See,” said Mr. Prescott, pulling out a chain that had a knife on it, and opening the blades. “See, it has Sheffield on both blades.”
Billy’s eyes saw the “Sheffield.” Then they saw something else, for on the side of the knife was a little silver plate, and on it—he had to look twice—was “Billy Bradford.”
“That’s a good knife,” said Billy.
The three men smiled, each his very best smile.
“Thank you, Mr. Prescott,” said Billy as he took the knife. Then he smiled, too.
“Now for the steel mill, and the last of our giants.”
“Is the mill deserted?” asked Dr. Crandon, as they went in.
“It’s much easier,” said Mr. Prescott, “to find the giants in a steel mill than it is to find the men. If you look around you’ll find a few, but they’ll be in most unexpected places.”