“We got nothing against you, Mr. Oakley, but we won't work in the same shop with a convicted criminal.”
“That's right,” muttered the chorus of men again.
Oakley's face flushed scarlet. Then every scrap of color left it.
“Get out of here!” he ordered, hotly.
“Don't we get our answer?” demanded Branyon.
While the interview was in progress, McClintock had entered, and now stood at the opposite end of the room, an attentive listener.
“No,” cried Oakley, hoarsely. “I'll put whom I please to work in the shops. Leave the room all of you!”
The men retreated before his fury, their self-confidence rather dashed by it. One by one they backed sheepishly out of the door, Branyon being the last to leave. As he quitted the room he called to Dan:
“We'll give you until to-morrow to think it over, but the old man's got to go.”
McClintock promptly followed Branyon, and Clarence darted after him. He was in time to witness the uncorking of the master-mechanic's vials of wrath, and to hear the hot exchange of words which followed.