“Now, see here,” the manager had smiled. “It’s queer about that adventure stuff. You can’t always dope it out, but sometimes I think that if a fellow is destined for adventure he’ll find it; yes, even in the heart of a noisy old industrial plant.”
Johnny had smiled and had at once forgotten the remark. He had resigned himself to hard and grimy toil, and for four months had stuck with determination to his job.
Now that remark came back to him as if he were hearing it again: “If a fellow is destined for adventure he’ll find it; yes, even in the heart of a noisy old industrial plant.” Was this strange white fire which enabled him to make a perfect weld with no oxygen and with his gas turned off, the mystery which was to provide the adventure destined to come to him?
He stared about the deserted room. It was after hours and no one was in the building save Tommy Barr, who had gone for a new tube of oxygen. He could discover no possible clue which would tell him of the origin of the strange white fire.
He started as there came a metallic click, click. Then he smiled. It was Tommy rolling the tube over the tile floor.
“Tommy,” he said, “the funniest thing,” then he paused and turned the remark to another subject. He had been about to tell of the strange white fire. “The mystery is mine,” was his sudden conclusion. “I’ll solve it alone.”
When Tommy had gone for the night, with trembling fingers Johnny selected a second defective casting and set it in the vise as the other had been. Eagerly he watched to see what would happen. His impatience grew as the moments passed, for no dull red glow answered his invitation to the unseen source of magic fire.
“Guess the spell’s broken,” he mumbled.
He waited a few minutes longer, then, switching on the valves of his torch, he sent a touch of blue flame against the defective casting and, a few minutes later, threw the now perfect part on the rapidly growing pile by his side.
After that he switched off his torch, snapped off the electric light and went home.