He was a resolute hustling piece of humanity, always doing things forcefully. With a rush he dragged Ben into and through the machine shop.
“Good boy!” spoke a machinist, patting Ben on the shoulder as he passed him.
“You did it grand, lad,” commended a second.
“Three cheers for Ben Hardy!” roared Tim Grogan, a jolly and independent apprentice.
The enthusiastic cheers, given with a will, died away as the foreman and Ben reached the office.
“Where’s Saxton?” demanded Dunn in his bluff off-handed way.
“He went outside the building,” explained the bookkeeper, who had suspended work and looked anxious and flustered. “Say, is the danger over?”
“Oh, maybe a few shingles shaken off the roof. I reckon Saxton went outside to see how many,” retorted the foreman sarcastically. “Here he comes.”
The portly proprietor of the works at that moment came strutting through the front doorway. He was very consequential, now that the peril was past.
“Here Mr. Saxton,” spoke the foreman, “—you know this boy?”