The boy questioned his companion no further, and soon they crossed one of the picturesque bridges spanning the brook, ascended a long, gentle slope to the base of the black cliffs, and stood before a wide, nail-studded door. To the officers on guard Fitz Mee presented the mayor’s permit. The guard deliberately and carefully read the slip of paper, then he lifted his brows, drew down the corners of his mouth and grunted pompously:
“Fitz Mee, you’re aware of the import of this official document, are you?”
Fitz Mee nodded gravely, grimly, and Bob looked from one to the other in silent wonder.
Bob and his comrade went straight to the mayor’s office.
The guard went on: “This permit of his honor, the mayor, says that not only is Master Robert Taylor, the friend and comrade of the honorable Fitz Mee, hereby permitted to go through our factories, but by the same token is compelled to go through them, this being his expressed desire and pleasure; and that the honorable Fitz Mee shall be held responsible for any trouble that may thereby arise. That’s all right, is it, Fitz Mee?”
“It’s all right,” Fitz Mee muttered sullenly, but determinedly.
“Pass in,” said the officer, unbolting the door and dragging it open.