“Alfret Offut, sir. It’s me that wants the job, and it’s me it belongs to.”
It was Jack North’s enemy who spoke, as he paused on the threshold panting for breath, while glaring at our hero with a baleful look.
“How come you here?” he demanded of Jack, a second later.
“My feet brought me here, and with less slowness than yours, judging by your appearance,” replied young North.
With the arrival of the second person on the scene, the clerk had turned away to find Henshaw, and while he was gone the rival youths stood glaring upon each other.
After a short time a big, red-faced, soot-be-grimed man appeared, saying as he reached them:
“If Offut will come this way I will talk with him.”
“Henshaw,” said the clerk simply, returning to his work, leaving the newcomer to attend to the visitors as he thought best.
“Ha--ha!” laughed young Offut, softly, as he followed the foreman, “where are you now, Jack North?”
Though Jack gave slight token of his feelings, he was more vexed at this usurpation of his rights than he cared to show. He lost no time in starting after the others in the direction of the shop. “I’m going on twenty-one,” Offut said, as they stopped at the door, “and there ain’t a chap as can outlift me.”