The Ambition of Mart Train
Btr Author of
HENRY RUSSELL ROLLER ™ RBE
(Coorrisht. MIX b* Tha BIIMW Man 111 Caws any)
t
SYNOPSIS.
Mark Trultt decides to leave hla patlve
town of Bethel to aeek hla fortune. Hts
sweetheart. Unity Martin, encourages him
to hla project.
CHAPTER ll—Continued.
He went again to the cupboard and
- took down a battered tin candlestick.
He lighted its candle and started
toward the Inward door. Half-way,'he
stopped abruptly and turned, his
mouth working strangely.
"If ye ever git rich," be dragged the
words out alowly, even painfully,
"come back here an' build a steel
plant ThereVa heap of fine coal an'
Iron In these hills, an' the river an'
railroad'!! give ye good transportation.
This valley's meant fur It I was jest
a little too early—an' a little too Igno
rant, I reckon. But ye're smarter an'
better schooled than me, an' the time's
comln'. I'd like to see a Trultt build
It"
Never before had 81moh Trultt
spoken of his dream and failure to hla
son.
"Why, yes," Mark answered, on s
sudden pitying Impulse, "I'll think
about It"
"Yes. Keep thlnkln' about It It's—
It's a big Idea."
Mark started. The phrase again!
Simon went to the window and peered
out Into the silvery night—toward the
south. Then be moved heavily toward
the door. He turned again; the flick
ering light from the candle tnrew the
lined, patient face Into sharp relief.
"Good night. Mark."
"Good night, father."
The door closed. For msny minutes
* Mark, left alone, absently fingered the
pocketbook and thought of the man
who bad given it to him. Then he
blew out the lamp and rose from the
table.
He. too, paused at the window and
looked out into ths night, toward the
aouth. 'He tried to see the sleeping
valley ae his father had dreamed It,
alight with the fires of msny furnaces
palpitant with the rumble of many
engines. He thought he saw It.
The picture faded. He saw only a
vague shadowy mass in a moonlit
meadow, the dismantled forge, silent
witness that for those who march
upon the battlefield that is called in
dustry fa no third choice. They must
conquer—or be conquered!
CHAPTER 111.
The Msstere.
He found himself, a lonely foreign
figure knowing not whither he would
go, somehow In the city's heart
Chance led him to the principal thor
oughfare. The city had begun to quit
its toll, and the released toilers were
pouring into the street, an endless un
ordered horde, heedlesn of him as they
were of one another. Never before had
he eeen so many people.
He bad a confused sense of being
sucked into a narrow, gloomy canyon
through which poured a flood of hu
manity, a treacherous, dangerous tor
rent, with many cross-currents. Count
less faces, wan in the unnatural twl
light streamed by him; a stranger
type to him, fox-featured, restless of
eye.
Full darkness fell. He paused under
a fiery sign, The Seneca. Through a
great plate-glass window he saw a
gaudy red-and-gold Interior broken by
( many columns that to the inexpert
eye somewhat resembled marble. Uni
formed pages scurried to and fro. Well
flressed men lounged In easy or
sauntered leisurely about Many lights
burned brilliantly. He looked within
longingly.
While he debated whether or not to
enter this expensive-looking hostelry,
• porter swooped upon him and
snatched from his hands the ancient
carpetbag that held his slender ward
robe.
"This way, suh!"
He followed the porter to the desk,
painfully conscious of the figure he
cut uncouth, out of place. A clerk
of lofty mien placed an open register
before him.
"Write your name here."
Mark wrote It.
"And your town."
Mark hesitated—and then, with a
dogged lowering of his head, firmly
wrote the name of that city.
In the dining room that night many
smiles were cast at the raw country
youth. He did not regard himself as
a subject for mirth. As he attacked
ths strange viands the waiter set be
fore him, a little of his self-confidence
returned. The vivid sense of a cruel,
overpowering entity faded. Home
slcknees tor Bethel, the refuge, sub
sided. x
He began to take In details of the
novel scene around him.
His ears strained to catch the re
marks that floated to him from the
neighboring tables. It was a strange
tongue he heard, lightly dismissing
topics that would have busied the gos
sips of Bethel for a moon. There was
a young man who wore diamond? and
talked in a loud and lmpre—lvs
fashion.
. . Elisabeth, I see, broke the
reeord again." (Elisabeth, it devel
oped, waa not a race horse, but one of
the Quinby Steel company's blast fur
naces.) "Yes. sir! More'n forty thou
-1 sand tons. Henley saya—l think so
myself—we're going to have the bin
gest steel year yet —No-o, I don't
Just exactly know him, but I know
people that do.—And Tom Henley's
going to be the biggest steel man In
the business—gets his fifty thousand
a year already. . . . MacOregor and
Quinby? Oh, they're the richest. They
let the others make the steel while
they make the money. See? Ha! hs!
... Tom Henley's the brains of the
Quinby crowd. And he's the d d
est speculator. . . . Worth his half
mil lion, they say, and ain't oVer thirty
five. , .
And this was the city from another
angle. Tom Henley, evidently, had the
monster well In hand.
The name had a familiar ring. Mark
drew from his pocket a letter Richard
Courtney had given him that morning.
Upon It was inscribed, "To Thomas
Henley, Esquire."
"He may be willing to help you
And work," Courtney had said, "if he
remembers me."
Mark regarded the letter thought
fully. He wondered what was In it
After a moment's hesitation he opened
—lt was unsealed—and read It.
"My Dear Henley," the letter ran,
"I am sending you .one who is the
work of my hands. He Is a young
man of parts, 'good friends,' as we
say up here in Dethel, 'with work.'
Also he "has a nose for money.' They
are qualities for which yotf, perhaps,
can help him find a market. ... I
say he Is my handiwork; but he is
an unfinished product. What, 1 won
der. will the new life that succeeds
me as his mentor make of him? Per
haps I should let him strike out for
himeelf and learn at once the ugly
cruelty of the struggle that now seems
to him so glorious. But we oldsters
have the habit of helping youth to the
sugar plums of which we have learned
the after-taste. . . . And this in
troduction Is the last thing I can do
for a young man who means much to
me."
After many minutes' study Mark
came to his decision. He would pre
sent himself and the letter to Thomas
Henley. He would do It that very
night—He rose from his dinner.
"Where," he Inquired of the super
cilious clerk, "does Thomas Henley
live? I must see him tonight"
The directions brought Mark at
length Into the heart of a small com
munity from which the city still kept
it a humble distance. Not so the fog,
which was no respecter even of gilded
colonies. From a tall Iron fence sloped
a wide sweeping lawn dotted at exact
intervals with trees and shrubbery.
And in its center loomed a great
shadowy mass, punctured by many
windows shooting broad luminous bars
Into the fog. It was the castle of the
tamer.
He proceeded with a boldness proper
'o adventurers in Eldorado, past the
waiting carriages that lined the grav
eled driveway, to the wide veranda.
There be halted. From within came
the strains of music and a gay clamor
of voices. -He could not know that
on this night the tamer gave a feast,
a formal dedicatlbn of the new castle
to the entertainment of his kind. But
he felt the hour to be ill-suited to his
purpose.
Yet it was effected.
Curiosity to look within carried him
to a window. To his wondering gaze
unfolded a vista of Irish point and
damask satin, carved mahogany and
marble figures, gilt-framed pictures
tnd silken rugs.
And amid this lavish display of beau
ties paraded a bevy of creatures seem
ing to hie excited fancy to have
stepped, out of "Arabian Nights."
"Unity," he said, ''will like that"
While he stood there a troop of men,
garbed In a monotony of black and
white, marched into the room. At the
name time voices came from another
wing of the veranda.
And then he, son of the blacksmith
of Bethel, became a spectator at the
birth of a project that for a brief
but brilliant period was to move the
world to hoeannas! ' ' '
"Henley," said the first voice, deep,
yet softly flowing as honey, "I have
come to the time of life when a man
sense puts awjiy the lusts of the
flesh—" *
"Is your digestion out of order?" in
terrupted khe second, sharper, less
musical amp with a sardonic quality
that delighted the listener. "I noticed
you didn't eat much tonight."
"Ah! It Is more than stomach. It
Is soul!" the mellow voice flowed on.
"My labors and Investments have been
blessed with good fortune. 80 I am
now able to turn my energies to the
higher duties, to doing large things for
humanity. And lately my thoughts
have dwelt mtch on—philanthropy and
palepfttology."
JPbe speaker, like Brutus, paused for
■®reply.-
"Mmm! Two 'p's," it came. "Quite
alliterative. Go on."
"Henley, you are the first to whom I
have spoken of my purpose. It la
fixed. In what nobler work, what
more fertile philanthropy, can a rr Mtl
of wealth engage than In the develop
-f
• •••. - *v Vv. - V
THE ENTERPRISE, WILLIAMSTON, NORTH CAROLINA.
ment df the science bt paleontology?
Think, Henley—to add to humanity's
knowledge of the extinct life that
came before our own! It is a labor
to fire the imagination. And tbat Ift
my purpose. 1 shall build and endow
In this city the most complete pale
ontologlcal institute in the world, and
before I lay aside the project, a branch
Institution in each of the largest cities
of tbe nation." The voice trembled
with emotion.
There was a sound as of two hands
sharply meeting. "Good! I see! Let
the Scotchman look to his laurels!
MocGregor may build his libraries, but
Quinby shall have his paleontologlcal
institutes!"
Mark wondered at the patience of
the answer. "Ah! You are pleased to
Jest. But the project te new to you.
And," sighingly, "the young think only
of wealth and power."
"My dear Mr. Quinby," the other
purred, "no man In his senses could
Jest at paleontology. What the
devil!"
The speakers had turned ths corner
of the veranda and come upon the
eavesdropper. Thus for the first time
Mark Trultt looked upon the two men
In whose legions be was to conquer.
Who has not in fancy's gallery a
portrait of Jeremiah Quinby, taken
from tbe printaor the day when his
star swept so brilliant through tbe
sky? The lofty brow seems to shelter
a very ferment of noble projects. The
grave eyes and mouth speak to us of
a great soul anguished by the sight of
suffering humanity's needs, which he
is bravely, self-effaclngly seeking to
relieve.
PhotograiHiy has been less kind to
Thomas Henley. No philanthropy has
claimed him as Its apostle. And then
he was a less promising subject for
the art. His body was squat and
heavy; his face WM bony and ugly and
arrogant, often still further marred by
a cold, cynical sneer. A lesser man,
thus presented, would have been repul
sive. Yet from Henley radiated a tre
mendous vitality that made him mag
netic or compelling as he chose- —the
dynamic quality that could galvanize a
man or a regiment to the mad effort
he ATter the first glance
Mar£ looked no more upon Quinby;
he understood why the philanthropist
had so meekly swallowed the Ineo
lence.
"This," he thought, "Is a man."
Henley charged upon him, gripping
his arm.
"What the devil," ho repeated, "are
you doing here?"
"Looking Into the window."
"What are you doing that for?"
"Because," Mark answered simply,
"I never saw anything like It before."
"Probably," the phllanthroplst-to-be
suggested nervously, backing away,
"he Is some sneak thief. Perhaps
you'd better hold him while I get
help."
"Oh, dpn't be frightened," Henley
replied protectively. "I won't let him
bite you."
The sardonic note was again upper
most. Mark, looking down at Henley
—he had the advantage of his captor
by half a head —grinned Involuntarily,
and was himself led Into Impudence.
"No, 1 won't bite you, Mr. Quinby."
' Quinby took another step backward,
his nervousness becoming more mani
fest. "He knows my name! He may
be some crank who—"
"My dear sir!" This time there was
a touch of Impatience In the words.
"Gentlemen of your Importance must
"If That's All You Want, What Are
You Good For?"
expect their names to become house
hold wordß. If you'll feel easier, step
Inside while I attend to this Peeping
Tom."
The philanthropist, still insensible —
It seemed—to the thinly veiled Inso
lence, accepted the suggestion.
"Now then," Henley demanded sharp
ly, "what do you want here? You
don't look like a sneak thief."
"I brought a letter to you."
"Who from?"
"Dr. Richard Courtney."
"Who's he?"
"He's our preacher In Bethel."
"Bethel? Elucidate Bethel."
Mark defined the village geograph
ically.
"Humph! Let me Bee tbe letter."
Mark, gave the missive to him, and
Henley, opening it, began tbe perusal.
"How many letters like tbfs do you
suppose I get every day?"
"A good many, I expect."
"Doiens!" Henley snapped. "Doz
ens! Enough, If I gave 'em all Jobs,
to cover tbe Quinby mills three deep
with Incompetents in a year."
He completed the perusal of ths let
ter.
"Well," he sneered, "you who peep
-
through windows, J suppose you want
a nice, fat job you're not fit to fill?
They all want that"
Suddenly Mark felt anger, hot an
ger, at this arrogant young man, not
so many years his senior, who baited
.philanthropists with as faint scrupling
as he rough-handled the seeker of
work. Henley saw him stiffen.
"No, I don't," Mark cried hotly. "I
only want a chance to work. A chance
to show what I'm good for."
"U that's all you want—what are
you good for?" >
"I'm a blacksmith, but I can do any
thing."
"Humph! We can use fellows who
can do anything—to swing pick and
shovel. Do you know where we're
building our new plant?"
"I can find out."
"Go to the labor boss and tefl him
to give you a Job with the construction
gang. If you're good for anything, you
can work up the way I—no, not the
way 1 did, but the way you'll have to
if you want to get along where I'm
running things."
"All right," Mark said shortly and
turned on his heel.
CHAPTER IV.
Ths Service of the Strong.
- To the nation had come a rarepas
slon for building. It was tearing down
ita old barns, to build anew, bigger
and stronger. There were cities to be
raised In tbe deserts; and they must
be made stanch and lasting. The pio
neer and his harvest must bo carried,
Dot by crawling conestoga and mule
train, but by the power of steam. Men
would go down to the sea no longer in
ships of wood, but in floating palaces
that mocked the Htortn, Those who
made war were to be sheltered behind
Impenetrable ramparts and.
equipped with engine* and missiles be
fore which stoutest defensos crumbled.
Tollers on land and sea must find In
their bands new weapons, hard and
keen mid sure, to bring nature, her
forces and treasures, Into bondage and
service.
Therefore, steel!
And, therefore, the army of steel
workers
A strong west wind had sprung up
during tbe night and the sun shone
clear on the line of that day's recruits.
One by one they passed before a keen
eyed youth—only the young officered
this army—who, after one glance, ac
cepted or rejectod. The enlisted
were turned over to the timekeeper,
who gave them numbered cards and
assigned them to various waiting
squads
A big Swede, a wiry little French-
Canadian and a slow-moving Pole were
passeil.
lie nodded curtly to the next appli
cant. "All right! Get your card."
And this recruit was he who had
accepted Thomas Henley's challenge.
The latter had already forgotten the
Incident, but Mark was still hot with
tbe determination to prove his mettle
to the lamer.
He gave his name to the time-clerk
and received his card, also the com
mand, "Go with Houlahan's gang."
Thus,' he reflected, he had taken the
first step In his campaign of conquest
—he was a private In Houlahan's
squad. -T
"Olt a move on!" thundered a voice
In his ear. "D'ye think yez arre a
pratfiy shtuck in th' grround? Marrch!"
It was the voice of Houlahan. Mark
inarched.
Corporal Houlahan had no romantic
conception of his dutfas, and his tyr
anny was of a sort to give his under
lies the realistic point of view.
"Here, ye Oly—"
"Ay bane Johann."
"Ye're Molke, 'f Ol say ut," bellowed
Houlahan. He enlarged upon Johanu's
dishonorable pedigree. "Dig In!"
The Swede, the best worker In the
gang, began to shovel In a nervous
hiiHte that added nothing to his effi
ciency. Mark saw the red creep into
the fair skin.
"Shtir it up, ye Frlnch loafer!" the
corporal addressed the next In line.
"We're runnln' no barber shop her*;.
F'r two clnts Oi'd bate some worruk
Into yet,"
It was a tired and sadly fretted gang
the noon whistle relieved. Mark
stretched himself out on the ground,
closing his eyes on the dinner palls
bis comrades produced; In his eager
ncKß to be enlisted he had not thought
of his midday meal, and he was very
hungry.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and
opened his eyes. The Frenchman and
the Swede sat beside hirn.
"M'sleu ees 'ongree, eh?" The
Frenchman carefully broke a loaf of
brown bread -all his ineal—in the
middle and proffered Mark one half.
"Un* t'lrsty?" The Swede held out
a bottle filled with cold coffee.
Mark looked covetously at the gifts,
but he shook his head.
"M'sleu 'ate dat dam' 'Oula'an?" the
Frenchman Inquired.
"I do," Mark resi>onded with fervor.
"Dat mak' fr'en's out of us, eh? Eat,
m'sleu."
Hunger overcame scruples. Mark ate
the bread and drank the coffee.
"Much obliged. I was hungry. You're
all right—" He paused inquiringly,
"Marcel Masquelier," the French
man completed the sentence.
"Johann Jobannsen," rolled from the
region of the Swede's stomach.
Mark identified himself.
"Dat ver' good name.— The
exclamation was for the corporal, who,
with the labor boss, approached. The
latter glanced over the excavation.
"How many loads have you taken
out?"
"Thirty-nine, sor."
"Only thirty-nine?" the boss rejoined
sharply. "It ought to be fifty."
"The dom'd loafers wont worruk,"
Houlahan defended himself angrily.
Tbe boss cast bis swift appraising
fiance over tbe resting groups.
"It's a good gang," he said shortly.
"And It's your business to make 'em
work." He parsed on.
"We'll get It now," Mark muttered
"That Irish bully'll never know how
to get work out of men. I'd like to
tell the boss so."
Johann's face began to work. "Ay
skoll kill Mister Houlaban," came his
slom growl, "mebbe so."
"Mebbe so not." Ma*?el shrugged
his shoulders. "One mo* leeve. An'
one mus' work. Eh?"
"Steady, Johann!" counseled Mark.
"Don't let him rattle you."
"You 'ear, Jo'ann?" Marcel added
earnestly. "I 'are respec' for w'at my
fr'en, M'sleu Mark Trultt, say."
They "got It," Indeed, that after
noon. The Irishman, under the etlng
of his boss' reproof, raged and cursed
endlessly in the effort to get more
work out of his men. The gang, irri
table and sullen, worked erratically,
with feverish spurts that brought In
evitable reaction; the men became de
moralized, Interfered with one another.
Mark, some whim of the boss mak
ing him a special target for the fusil
"Would You Mind Saying That Again?"
lado of profanity, was hard put to
keep his temper in leash; he was hard
er put to restrain the mutinous Swede,
who itched with a desire for assassi
nation. Toward the end of the day
even the philosophic Marcel grew ill
natured and snarling. Somehow Mark
felt their hospitality of the noon hour
had put upon him a responsibility for
them, though they were his seniors
by at least ten years.
"One must live, you know," he re
minded Marcel. "And one must work."
"One ruus' not be treat' like a dog,
m'sleu." Marcel ripped out a long
French cath. "Jo'ann, you 'ave my
consen' ty keel dat 'Oula'an."
Suddenly the Swede dropped his
shovel. "Ay bane by endt. Ja!"
Johann was too slow In Ills mental
pfoceßsex to be shamed Into patience.
"Pick up that shovel and get to
work," Mark commanded sharply.
The Swede blinked stupidly for a
moment, then slowly obeyed.
"You our boss, heln?" Marcel
sneered.
"No, Marcel, since noon—your
friend," Mark responded.
Marcel, too, Btared and then, with a
gesture of contrition, bent himself dog
gedly to his task,
Mark thought he hoard a chuckle.
He looked up to meet the eyes of the
tamer. As to the chuckle, ho may
have been mistaken; In the keen Im
personal glance was no Blgn of recog
nition. Henley, with the labor boss,
departed on his tour of inspection.
Mark gave himself anew to his work,
with a sudden Inner expansion. Not
Henley, but the submlsslveness of his
malcontent "frlendß," was the cause
of that expansion.
Mark learned that there are a right
method and a wrons of doing even
the simple task of plying a shovel;
that there Is a fashion of handling
even so common an animal as the day
laborer which brings out his highest
efficiency. Ho found, moreover, that
he had the gift—granted as often to
the false and the foolish as to the true
and the wise—of popularity. Men
liked him; they laughed at his Jokes;
on a day's acquaintance they confided
to him their troubles—squalid trage
dies they were, alas! only too often.
Marcel always called him "m'sleu," a
distinction he accorded not even to
Hlalr, the labor boss.
One chill, foggy evening, as the
whistle blew, he looked about htm and
realized that the excavation for the
new mill was completed.
"Why, we're through!" he fluttered.
Johann stared s'upldly.
"Mebtoy dat Metwtajr Blair 'e geev
us anudder job, you t'lnk so, eh?" ven
tured Marcel hopefully.
"No. We're the rottenest. gang on
the~~work. It's Houlahan's fault. And
I haven't had my chance. D n
him!"
"D n!" The impending calamity
was becoming clear to Johann.
"M'sleu 'as los' 'ees chance. Dat
ver' bad. Jo'ann an' me, we 'ave los'
a job," Marcel sighed.
But the fear was not Justified. At
the tool-shed they__were ordered to
report next "'morning a half hour ear
lier than usual. And:
"Trultt," said the time clerk, '"the
be«B wants to Bee you." „
Mark made his way to the rude
shanty that was Blair's office.
"Trultt," the latter demanded,
"what's the matter with Houlahan's
gang?"
"Too much bullying," Mark an
swered directly.
"I thought so. Report tomorrow
morning."
"Yefc, sir. Of course."
"I'm going to put your gang on tbe ]
new coke oven beds. If* a mall
I give you three weeks for it,"
"(lire me?"
"Yes. I'm putting you in charge of
the gang."
For an Instant Mark stared.foolish
ly. Then he grinned. "Would you
mind saying that again?"
Blair complied. "Look here," he
added boyishly. "I'm taking a chance
on you, because you look and talk
intelligent. Are you?"
Mark admitted it.
"Then prove It. I want to make a
record on this Job and so you've got
to. Iloulahan," Blair addted. "didn't—
and he loses hlsr'job. 8ee?"
Mark Haw.
In the morning Houlahan reported,
happily unaware et a new oror of
things.
"Houlahan," Blair announced casu
ally, "Truitt will take your gang to
day."
Houlahan glared malevolently at
Mark.
"And where'U Oi go?"
"You con take Truitt's old place —or
quit," said Hlalr curtly.
"My God!"
There was no resistance. As if
dazed, the Irishman shouldered his
pick and shovel and with the gang fol
lowed Mark to the new Job,
You have seen a sensitive horse be
come docile and eager when a master
takes the reins. So it was with Houla
han's, no*v Truitt's, gang, yhey were,
since they had survived the weeks of
bullying, 110 mean type; and they re
sponded gratefully to the changed
leadership. Where they had been sul
len and reientful, they now became
willing and promptly obedient. As the
day advanced, the pace, Inetead of
siackeulng as under Houlahan's com
mand. grew faster; the last hour's
record was the beßt. of all.
Ofteu Mark went home to his
Ing byway of the mills. Then he be
gan to spend his evenings studying
thorn, sometimes in company with
lilair, who when the day's work was
done sunk his rank In a frank liking
for his lieutenant.
At first Mark saw only a vast speo
tacular chaos; a Brobdlngnaglan fer
ment of unordered and unrelated en
ginery and consuming fires. No guld
ins hand appeared, no purpose was
felt. Some awful mischance that must
bring the whole fabric crashing to
earth seemed always to Impend. It
was unbelievable that this creation
had been brought forth from the mind
and by the hand of man.
Gradually to his accustomed eye
the chaos resolved Itself Into a system
—rather, a marvelous system of sys
tems that worked with a single put*
pose, each unit fitting precisely lnt*
the ordered whole.
"God!" he exclaimed one night, over
come by the splendor of It all. He and
Blair were standing on the bridge
over the blooming mill, watching the
half naked troop that with hook and
tongs worked a two-ton ingot over the
rolls.
"What Is It? What's happened?"
Blair looked around for an accident to
explain the ejaculation.
"Nothing. I was Just thinking how
—how big it is." Mark laughed at the
feebleness of his words. "What would
you give to be down there?"
There Is such a thing aB luck. A
man—himself an artist who had not
yet become exploiter—who had Just
come unnoticed on the bridge, heard,
and with a half smile, saw the eager
face. \
Blair shrugged his shoulders. "Yes.
It's big. But it's hard work. Good
pay, though."
"I suppose so," Mark answered care
lessly. "I wasn't thinking of that"
The man spoke. "Good evening,
Hlalr."
"Oh! Good evening, Mr. Henley."
Hla4r struck a respectful attitude. "A
bad night, sir."
Henley looked at Mark. "I don't
just place you. Where have I seen
you before?"
Mark flushed at the recollection.
"I took a letter I had for you and
you caught me—"
"So you're Peeping Tom, eh? Did
you get a Job?"
"Yqs, sir. With a pick and-shovel
gang. I'm boss now."
Henley seemed not unduly Im
pressed.
"He's the man that dug the new
oven beds," lilair interposed gener
ously "He did It la two weeks and
three days."
"Two weeks and two days," Mark
corrected eagerly
"So long?" Henley continued Indif
ferent.
"I had a spoiled gang. It took a
week for me to shape 'em up."
"Humph! That's what we pat
bosses for. We gave you credit for
that Job, Hlalr." •
"I took hirn out of the'gang and pull
him on the Job. Hut he did the work I
He knows how to get work out of
men."
And that wa3 high praise—the very
! highest, Henley thought He turned
again to Mark.
"Are you satisfied with your job?"
"No," cried Mark. "I don't want to
be just a Hunky-driver. I want to
learn how to make steel."
"It's easier to learn how to make
steel than to be a Hunky-driver," Hen
ley said dryly. ''However, I think wa
can find you another job."
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Roundsman Emulate* Naturalist
There is a policeman In the Middle
sex Falls who carries a book, a pair o!
opera glasses and a bundle of note pa
per with him on his rounds.
"I've been here a number of yeara,"
he said to a visitor, "and I got
ashamed when everybody asked me
about birds and flowers and I could ,
not tell them about anything. On*
day 1 saw Mr. Packard, the naturalist,
at work, and I've been imitating bin
•ince then."—Boston T«s.*elqr-