"Thank you," answered Fred, as he started toward the stamping mills, the thundering noise of which could be heard for a long distance.
"Well, what can I do for you?" asked the superintendent sharply, as Fred entered the office.
"Do you want any boys to drive ore carts? I heard you did."
"We did, but we filled the last place about an hour ago."
Fred's heart sank. If he had been a little earlier, or if he had started sooner, he might now have had a good job.
"Is there anything else to do around here?" he asked. "I would be glad to get work of any kind."
"I'm afraid I haven't anything for any one as young as you."
"I am quite strong, though I am only seventeen years old."
"Yes, I must admit you seem a sturdy lad, but, I am sorry to say, I can't give you any work. If you leave your name and address I'll send for you, when there is anything."
"Thank you," replied Fred, and he wrote them on a piece of paper the manager gave him.