“That’s bad. I don’t like to take these eight-hour boys. The time we want workmen most is in the early morning and at closing time. Those are the very hours you under-age fellows are not here. However, since you have come at Mr. Coddington’s recommendation we’ll have to get on without you the best way we can. Strong, your name is! Do you know Mr. Coddington personally?”
“I’ve known him all my life,” was the reply.
“Then you know an honest, upright gentleman,” declared Mr. Tyler warmly. “His friendship is well worth having and a possession to be proud of. Take care you do not disappoint him.”
“I do not mean to disappoint him,” was Peter’s quick reply. “He told me, though, that after he got me the place he should not do anything more for me. I’ve got to make good myself. He’s the president of the company and I am just a boy in the works.”
Unconsciously the lad repeated his father’s very words.
“That’s right. That’s the way to go at it,” the superintendent assented cordially. “It is very kind of Mr. Coddington to bother his head about you at all, for he is such a busy man that he has more things to remember in a day than most of the rest of us have ever thought of in all our lives. After you once get in here he, of course, can’t take the time to follow you up. Having done you the favor of giving you a start he will drop you from his mind. You cannot expect anything else and I am glad you have common sense enough to see it.”
At the thought of his father “dropping him from his mind” Peter smiled inwardly. Of course Mr. Tyler could not see the smile, and even if he had he would not have understood it. As it was he now cut short the interview by touching a bell at his elbow in response to which a messenger appeared.
“Take this boy down to the yard, Johnson,” he said. “Introduce him to Carmachel and tell him he is to help unload skins. His name is Strong. Good luck to you, young man. Remember the world is a large place and there are plenty of fine positions waiting for the men who prove themselves big enough to fill them.”
Peter took the superintendent’s hand but he forgot to answer. Somehow Mr. Tyler’s words awakened a train of thoughts which were so entirely new that he could not immediately drive them from his mind. So the great universe of work demanded that you should fill your position, not rattle round in it! The mere fact that one had a rich father did not help much then after all. It might aid you in keeping your job, to be sure, but it could not aid you in doing it. Evidently at the Coddington tanneries there were plenty of men ready to take your chance if you were not smart enough to hold on to it yourself. Peter decided that it behooved him to “hustle.” It was a novel sensation to feel this spur to action.
As he thus philosophized he was following his guide, who now turned down a flight of steep steps into a yard slippery with black mud and deeply rutted by the wheels of heavy wagons. A double track with a row of freight cars flanked the building opposite, and from these cars a group of men were unloading bundles of skins and tossing them on the platform. The men were dressed in faded jumpers and overalls and some of them wore rubber aprons.