Mr. Coddington mused a few seconds before answering.
“Why, yes,” he replied meditatively, “I suppose it could be done. Nobody knows you at the works, so there would be no danger of your being recognized. My plan to send you there I have kept to myself. You could easily enter under some other name if you chose. You must consider, however, that if you decide to go in simply as an ordinary boy I shall not be able to help you much; nor can you expect to be favored in any way by the men. You would have to stand on your own feet and take your own chances.” Again Mr. Coddington ruminated. “That might not be a bad idea, either,” he observed, half aloud.
“Oh, I would so much rather take another name, Father,” pleaded Peter.
But Mr. Coddington did not heed the interruption; he was still thinking.
“I do not mean to stand behind you after you are in the tannery, anyway,” he went on. “In every department there is a foreman to whom you will be accountable—not to me. Nor must you come running home and here report every real or fancied injustice. So far as business goes I am the president of the company and you are simply a boy in my employ. Out of working hours we will be father and son and will enjoy our drives, walks, and reading together just as we have in the past. One rule, however, must be strictly adhered to—we will not talk shop.”
“I understand, sir,” nodded Peter.
“Now just a last word,” concluded Mr. Coddington. “To-morrow morning you must be prompt at the works. Eight o’clock is the hour you are to present yourself and that does not mean before eight or after eight; it means on the stroke of eight. You will carry a luncheon which your mother will see is put up for you. You are to hand to Mr. Tyler, the superintendent of Factory 1, a card bearing my signature and you are to say to him that you are the boy I telephoned him about. He does not know who you are, but he understands that I am interested in you and he will start you in wherever he thinks best. On the card I shall write your name—and by the by”—a smile flitted over Mr. Coddington’s face—“what is your name to be?”
Peter hesitated; then his lips curved into a faint reflection of his father’s merriment.
“I think I will enter the tannery as Peter Strong,” he answered.