“That is all I am offering you—my talents as a worker. For the rest, eet is my own affair!”
“Exactly,” agreed Tom. “Well, I’m inclined to give you a trial, for we need some extra help just now. Wait, I’ll see if my father is up yet.”
Going to the telephone that was connected with his father’s own room, Tom noticed that the door leading into the small room where he had stored his chest of secrets was open, leaving the heavy box in full view. Tom closed the door, though not before he had caught the dark and snapping eyes of his visitor fixed on the chest.
“Rad must have opened that door,” thought Tom, a trifle put out by the incident. “I must tell him to be more careful. He is getting old and careless. But I hate to get rid of the faithful fellow.”
Mr. Swift was up, and he told Tom that he would come down and talk to the Russian. In spite of the latter’s labored English—he pronounced all save a few words very well, except for a peculiar intonation—Ivan Barsky was able to give a good account of himself. He answered Mr. Swift’s questions intelligently and showed that he had been well apprenticed in machinist work and in the making of models and patterns.
“A model-maker is what I’d really take him on for, if you think it’s wise to hire him,” said Tom to his father in a low voice as they discussed the matter in the far end of the office. “I am working on the new automatic stop invention, and a great many models will be needed. Our men are busy on other matters. We might give this fellow a trial.”
“Well, Tom, you know I don’t usually interfere in the shop matters,” said Mr. Swift. “I appreciate the fact that you want to get your new invention started. But I would think twice before I hired this man once.”
“Why Dad?”
“Well, for one thing, I don’t like his looks.”
“I don’t, either. But we have just as dangerous and anarchistic-looking fellows out in the other shops.”