“Strong is a little fussy, I am afraid, Mr. Coddington,” interrupted Mr. Tyler. “The conditions are the same as they always have been—the same as they are in most mills. The men can go home at noon if they like.”
“But they can’t get home, and eat anything, and get back here, all within an hour,” objected Peter. “Besides, they are often too tired. It is much easier to stay right in the tannery. Of course in warm weather we have the park and can go outside, so then we are all right; but during the winter——”
“That will do, Strong,” cut in Mr. Tyler. “Remember your time is up this week. What’s your name?” The superintendent turned severely on Nat.
“Jackson.”
“Oh, yes—Jackson. You are the boy who was hurt.”
Nat nodded.
“I am sorry to see that you are making such a poor return to the company for its kindness to you. It is unfortunate all around. But we cannot have the rules of the tannery broken. Mr. Coddington will, I am sure, agree with me there.”
“Undoubtedly, Tyler. Any person who is at fault should be punished. In this particular case, however, just who is at fault? If, as the lads say, they have nowhere to go at noon, is the fault wholly theirs if they seek a remedy from their discomfort? Suppose we suspend their sentence until we investigate the conditions and simply caution them not to repeat the offense. Had these empty cases not been left here by some negligent persons seclusion would have been impossible. Somebody beside the boys was to blame. Order the boxes removed and drop the matter.”
Without another word Mr. Coddington stalked toward the elevator and the men who accompanied him had no choice but to follow.
Peter and Nat breathed a sigh of relief.