"Mr. Whiffler is goin'?" exclaimed Mrs. Purtett.

She looked at her daughter, who gave a little sob and ran out of the room.

"What makes my daughter Belle feel bad," says the widow, "is, that she had
a friend,--well, it isn't too much to say that they was as good as
engaged,--and he was foreman of the Foundry finishin'-shop. But somehow
Whiffler spoilt him, just as he spoils everything he touches; and last
winter, when Belle was away, William Tarbox--that's his name, and his head
is runnin' over with inventions--took to spreein' and liquor, and got
ashamed of himself, and let down from a foreman to a hand, and is all the
while lettin' down lower."

The widow's heart thus opened, Wade walked in as consoler. This also
opened the lodgings to him. He was presently installed in the large and
small front-rooms up-stairs, unpacking his traps, and making himself
permanently at home.

Superintendent Whiffler came over, by-and-by, to see his successor. He did
not like his looks. The new man should have looked mean or weak or
rascally, to suit the outgoer.

"How long do you expect to stay?" asks Whiffler, with a half-sneer,
watching Wade hanging a map and a print _vis-à-vis_.

"Until the men and I, or the Company and I, cannot pull together."

"I'll give you a week to quarrel with both, and another to see the whole
concern go to everlasting smash. And now, if you're ready, I'll go over