Tom had not been at work more than an hour when a boy brought him word that the superintendent of the shipping department desired to see him. He hurried to his superior's office.
"You were not at work yesterday?" the superintendent said.
"No," Tom admitted.
The head of the department drew a morning paper from a pigeon-hole and pointed at a face on its first page. "Your likeness, I believe."
"It was intended for me."
He touched a button, and a clerk appeared. "Phillips, make out Keating's time check." He turned sharply back upon Tom. "That's all. We've got no use for anarchists in our business."
Chapter XXI
WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN
