“Pomp,” said Frank, sharply.
“What am it, sah?”
“I want you to go with me.”
“A’right, sah.”
The darky followed Frank out of the fine mansion and down to the street.
A few minutes’ walk brought them to the gates of the machine shop yard.
Here they met a jolly-looking Irishman, whose twinkling eyes and broad mug stamped him a genuine son of the Green Isle.
“Barney O’Shea!” said Frank, sharply, “I want you to come with me.”
“All roight, sor!” exclaimed Barney, with great readiness.
The negro and the Irishman were old servitors of Frank Reade, Jr.