"He is in full charge at the iron works here and drawing a salary of eight thousand dollars a year. Father says he will run the works into the ground so that the stock won't be worth a cent."
"Can't your father do anything?"
"Not yet. But he is going to watch things. There was some trouble over a contract and he is trying to get to the bottom of that," continued Jack.
When Randy went to work for Farmer Borden he came into contact with the farmer's son Sammy, a tall, overgrown lad of fourteen, with a freckled face and a shock of red hair. Sammy hated to work, and his father and mother had to fairly drive him to get anything out of him.
"City folks don't work like farmers," remarked Sammy to Randy. "They jest lay off an' take it easy."
"How do you know that?" asked our hero, in quiet amusement.
"'Cos I once read a paper of the sports in the city."
"Some rich folks don't work, Sammy. But all the others work as hard as we do."
"I don't believe it," said Sammy, stoutly. "Wish I was a city lad. Oh, wouldn't I jest have the bang-up time, though!"
"Sammy Borden!" cried his mother, shrilly. "You get to work, an' be quick about it."