Bill Royce grew rigid.
"You ain't—you ain't Stevie come back?" he whispered. "You ain't Stevie!"
With three strides Packard reached him, finding Bill Royce's hand with his.
"Right you are, Bill Royce," he cried warmly as at last his and Royce's hands locked hard.
"I'm fired, you say!" Blenham was storming, his eyes wide. "Fired? Who says so, I want to know?"
"I say so," returned Packard shortly.
"You?" shouted Blenham. "If you mean ol' man Packard has sent you to take my place just because— It's a lie; I don't believe it."
"This outfit doesn't happen to belong to old man Packard—yet," said Steve coolly. "Does it, Royce?"
"Not by a jugful!" answered the blind man joyously. "An' it never will now, Steve! Not now."
Blenham looked mystified. Rubbing his skinned knuckles he glared from Steve to Royce, then to the other faces, no less puzzled than his own.