"Will you do exactly as I tell you for a month?"
"Yes," promised Amos weakly.
The captain opened a closet door and pointed to several sets of workingman's overalls.
"You pick out the longest of those and roll them into a bundle and come along."
Amos obeyed. He could not explain this strange course, unless he was to be conducted on a journey to see depths of misery and wickedness more abysmal than his own.
Whistling, the little man led the way out into the street, and returning to the square bade his companions good-bye. Of the wide, interested eyes of the leader of the singing he took special note, and smiled inwardly and said to himself with the air of a prophet, "Sally's got her eye on him." Then he climbed into a street-car, Amos close behind him. When they had traveled several miles he got out and led the way through an opening in a high fence into the yard of a blast furnace. The blast was in progress and the air was filled with rosy light.
"Come on," he said.
"What are we going to do?" Did some hideous immolation threaten? The place seemed like the lower regions.
"We're going to work," said the strange guide. "What ails you is not sin, but idleness; you've got too much time on your hands. I bet you ain't ever worked a whole day in your life! I'm the boss of the night shift and you're under me. Get me?"