"All right, Jules. Get in an' start to work."
He was a straw boss or foreman, Ramsay decided, and his voice betrayed his New England forebears. An older man, with hair completely gray, like all the rest he was wrinkled and weathered. Physically he was lean and tough, but he did not seem belligerent or even unkind. When the last worker had entered the tannery, he turned to Ramsay.
"You needn't be afraid, son. Mr. Chadbourne went to Milwaukee last night."
"I'm not afraid. I was just wondering if he wouldn't come out for a second start."
"Look, son," the other's air was that of an older and wiser person trying to reason with an impetuous boy, "you haven't got a chance. The best thing you can do is get out of town before Mr. Chadbourne comes back."
"Maybe I like this town."
"You can only cause trouble by staying here."
"I've been in trouble before, too."
The older man shrugged, as though he had discharged his full responsibility in warning Ramsay, and said, "It's your funeral, my boy. Stay away from the tannery."
"You needn't worry."