“I know, Tom, but they have been with us for years.”
“Yes. But when they first came their appearance was against them. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll put this Barsky to work. But I’ll tell Jackson to keep an eye on him.”
“All right. But it’s against my better judgment,” and Mr. Swift shook his head as he glanced toward the foreigner. “Still, he may do good work for you, and speed is essential just now. But have him watched.”
“I will, Dad. And now I won’t trouble you and further. Here comes Ned, and we’ll get started on the daily grind.”
Mr. Swift, who was writing a book on certain mechanical principles, was glad to be released so he could go to his literary labors. After his father’s departure Tom called a man from the shop and sent his strange caller out to be put to work.
“Who is his Royal Whiskerisky?” asked Ned, as he put on his office coat and took his place at his desk.
“His name is Barsky—Ivan Barsky,” replied Tom. “I’ve just hired him,” and he gave a brief story of the caller.
“Hum—Barsky,” mused Ned, with a smile. “Well, all I have to say is that I hope his bite isn’t as bad as his bark-sky!” and he put his arm in front of his face to ward off a missile which he expected Tom would throw at him following this atrocious joke.
“Men have been shot at sunrise for less than that,” chuckled the young inventor. “However, that reminds me, I must tell Jackson to keep his weather eye peeled for this chap. I don’t want him walking off with any valuable templates.”
He sent for the foreman, giving him some instructions about the new employee, and Mr. Jackson said: