“I can’t say whether it would,” replied the manager. “Bob may be ten, or a little under, or a little over. I don’t think he’ll change much from what he is, not if he lives fifty years. His face looks just like something that has been hammered into a certain shape that it can’t get out of.”
“And they talk, too, of limiting the hours of work to ten per day for children between ten and sixteen years,” went on Mr. Goodman, still frowning; “and, what’s more, the bill requires three months’ day-schooling or six months’ night-schooling. I declare, if this bill becomes a law, I’ll retire from business. The public has no right to interfere with my employment of labor. It is sheer tyranny.”
“Well, it would throw labor considerably out of gear,” remarked the superintendent; “for there are a hundred thousand children employed in the shops and factories of this city and suburbs.”
“But, no; the bill sha’n’t pass!” exclaimed Mr. Goodman, thumping his fist on the table. “Why, what’s the use of a lobby, if such a bill can go through?”
Here the foreman smiled, whereupon his employer gave a responsive smile; then pulling the bell, “Now,” said the latter, “let us drink the model boy’s health.” In a few minutes there appeared a decanter of sherry. “Here’s to Flywheel Bob!” cried Mr. Goodman, holding up his glass.
“To Flywheel Bob!” repeated the other; and they both tossed off the wine.
“Flywheel Bob! Why, what a funny name!” spoke a low, silvery voice close by. Mr. Goodman turned hastily round, and there, at the threshold of the study, stood a little girl, with a decidedly pert air, and a pair of lustrous black eyes fixed full upon him; they seemed to say: “I know you told me not to enter here, yet here I am.” A profusion of ringlets rippled down her shoulders, and on one of her slender fingers glittered a gold ring.
“Daisy, you have disobeyed me,” said her father, trying to appear stern; “and, what is more, you glide about like a cat.”
“Do I?” said Daisy, smiling. “Well, pa, tell me who Flywheel Bob is; then I’ll go away.”
“Something down at my factory—a little toy making pennies for you. There, now, retire, darling, retire.”