“William,” he said, “when a boy makes practical use of a visit to a foundry, I think it would be a good idea for him to go over a mill, don’t you?”
That was a long speech for Mr. Prescott. There wasn’t any time lost, however, for Billy didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, because his face told, right away, what he thought about it.
Miss King, looking up, nodded and smiled.
Off they went: tall, broad man; boy that was growing taller and slenderer every day.
Billy threw back his shoulders, and drew a long, deep breath. Part of it was satisfaction; the rest was a desire to be strong and broad like Mr. Prescott.
“That,” said Mr. Prescott, as they passed a huge drum which was turning over and over and making a great noise, “is a rattler. There’s some sand left on castings after molding. Put small ones in there with pieces of wood. Rub each other off.”
Mr. Prescott went on, seeming to forget Billy, as he spoke here and there to his men.
Billy followed close, for he knew that Mr. Prescott was likely, any moment, to spring a question on him.
They were half-way over the mill before Mr. Prescott spoke again. Then, stopping suddenly before a large lathe, he said:
“John Bradford makes our best beds and slides. See him?” he asked, turning to Billy.