Jeffy was handed over to McClintock's tender mercies, who put him to work in the yards.
It was pay-day in the car-shops, and Oakley posted a number of notices in conspicuous places about the works. They announced a ten-per-cent, reduction in the wages of the men, the cut to go into effect immediately.
By-and-by McClintock came in from the yards. He was hot and perspiring, and his check shirt clung moistly to his powerful shoulders. As he crossed to the water-cooler, he said to Dan:
“Well, we've lost him already. I guess he wasn't keen for work.”
Oakley looked up inquiringly from the letter he was writing.
“I mean Jeffy. He stuck to it for a couple of hours, and then Pete saw him making a sneak through the cornfield towards the crick. I haven't told your father yet.”
Dan laughed.
“I thought it would be that way. Have you seen the notices?”
“Yes,” nodding.
“Heard anything from the men yet?”