“Look here, Mr. Dunn——”
“You get!” reiterated the foreman.
Shallock began to snivel.
“See here, you may be sick yourself some time,” he declared in a maudlin tone.
“Sick!” repeated the foreman contemptuously.
“I’ve run my engine two years——”
“It isn’t your engine any more,” observed the foreman. “One of you men go for Pete Doty,” he continued to the group from the molding room. “He’s out of a job, and he can have this one if he qualifies right. That’s all,” added Dunn, with a peremptory wave of his hand.
The signal was understood promptly by all hands to get back to their respective places. Mr. Hardy moved over to the side of Ben. He placed a hand on his son’s head and his eyes were full of emotion.
“I am proud of you, my son,” he said simply.
“You ain’t the only one,” broke in Dunn, brusquely brushing Mr. Hardy aside and catching Ben’s arm in his iron grip. “You come with me, boy.”