opposite.

"I wish I were Rembrandt, to paint this grand shadowy interior," thought
Wade, as he entered the silent, deserted Foundry. "With the gleam of the
snow in my eyes, it looks deliciously warm and _chiaroscuro_. When the men
are here and '_fervet opus_,'--the pot boils,--I cannot stop to see the
picturesque."

He opened his office, took his Report and began to complete it with ,s,
;s, and .s in the right places.

All at once the bell of the Works rang out loud and clear. Presently the
Superintendent became aware of a tramp and a bustle in the building.
By-and-by came a tap at the office-door.

"Come in," said Wade, and, enter young Perry Purtett.

Perry was a boy of fifteen, with hair the color of fresh sawdust, white
eyebrows, and an uncommonly wide-awake look. Ringdove, his father's
successor, could never teach Perry the smirk, the grace, and the
seductiveness of the counter, so the boy had found his place in the
finishing-shop of the Foundry.

"Some of the hands would like to see you for half a jiff, Mr. Wade," said
he. "Will you come along, if you please?"

There was a good deal of easy swagger about Perry, as there is always in
boys and men whose business is to watch the lunging of steam-engines. Wade
followed him. Perry led the way with a jaunty air that said,--