"I hadn't thought of that before," said Billy, greatly relieved.
"Of course you hadn't. They wouldn't either if they hadn't felt so guilty themselves. Well, here's your card of admission, and don't pick up any hot lava."
"Thank you," said Billy. "I won't."
The Coal Man opened the door leading into the works.
Such a wonderful sight as met Billy's gaze! A deep red glow was over everything, growing lighter and duller every few moments as the stokers would open a furnace door, shovel in some coal, and slam the door to again.
And the stokers—they were indeed sights. Black as coal and as shiny as patent-leather boots, which, with their fiery red hair, made them look like chimney-pots on fire.
Here and there among them wandered an old, old man with a very wise face and long white hair. In one hand he carried a pair of scales and with the other he was putting into them first some of this and then some of that, which he weighed carefully and deposited in what looked like a great big cartridge shell.
"How do you do, sir?" said Billy.
"Gun cotton and vaseline in parts of two to——Oh! How do you do?"