“I’m glad you are coming into the beamhouse to work, Strong,” he ventured timidly. “There are not many boys here my age. You won’t like it at first, I’m afraid, but you will soon get used to it.”
“I don’t believe I shall like it at all,” was Peter’s rueful reply. “It’s an awful place, isn’t it?”
“Oh, it’s not so bad as it seems. You won’t mind it—really you won’t. Of course the smell is disagreeable and it is wet and sloppy, too; but Bryant, the foreman, is a mighty white fellow and the men, although mostly foreigners, are pleasant enough. I myself was so thankful to get any work that I did not much care what it was.”
“Have you been here long?” questioned Peter.
“Ever since I was old enough to go to work—a year this August.”
“And you’ve been in this room all that time!”
“Yes. It takes quite a while to get a promotion here at the tannery. My pay has been raised to nine dollars, though. Maybe I wasn’t glad to get the money! You see, I support my mother.” Jackson threw back his head proudly.
“You? You support yourself and your mother?” repeated Peter incredulously.
“Sure I do! Why not?”
“But you—why, you are not much older than I am!”