“Rouse him up, quick,” spoke Ben to one of the molders, and with a motion of his foot he kicked the tell-tale liquor flask towards the ash pit.
The man laughed, winked, and with the aid of a comrade dragged the engineer to his feet. By this time Mr. Hardy had reached the spot. Pressing past him, the foreman faced the blinking engineer sternly.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Faugh!” as he caught a whiff of the engineer’s breath—“at the old trick again, eh?”
“Steam overcame me,” stammered Shallock.
The shop foreman turned to Ben.
“Did you do that?” he inquired in his sharp, crisp way, waving his hand towards the engine.
“I shut off the power—yes, sir,” replied Ben.
“What was this man doing?”
Ben hesitated and flushed up. He did not wish to tell on anybody, much less a person who disliked him and would be sure to ascribe any “peaching” to spite.
“You needn’t answer,” suddenly spoke the foreman, his keen eye catching sight of the bottle, and picking it up. “Get out of here, you,” he added disgustedly, giving the engineer a shove towards the door.