What lent the air of secrecy to the conference of the workmen was the fact that they suddenly dispersed with significant winks and nods as Larry approached.
Another suspicious circumstance was the fact that all, or nearly all, were hands who had been employed in the works only a few months.
Early in the previous spring fifty or sixty of the Tioga Iron Company's hands had gone out on a strike, and were promptly discharged, and a new gang that appeared in town rather opportunely, as it seemed, were hired to take their places.
The most of those who were talking together so secretly were members of this gang; and quite prominent among them was Steve Croly.
Joe Cuttle was firing up, the red glare from the glowing furnaces lighting up his homely face.
"What were those men talking about out by the entrance just now?" Larry asked, as Joe looked up.
"What men, lad?"
And the single eye was expressionless as it met the questioning glance of the young engineer.
"Steve Croly was one; most of them were the new hands."
"He might be telling of them how he coom oot of here when A toald him to goo," said the fireman, with his hideous grin.