little skill The milk had come from the cart of a certain company, which
passed daily through the locality, not to supply orders, but to peddle
milk to whoever cared to buy. Peter had the cart pointed out that
morning, but, beyond making a note of the exact name of the company, he
paid no attention to it. He was aiming at bigger game than a milk cart
or its driver.

His work was interrupted only by his taking Mrs. Dooley and the two
children to the train. That done, Peter walked northwardly and
westwardly, till he had nearly reached the river front. It took some
little inquiry, but after a while he stumbled on a small shanty which
had a sign:

NATIONAL MILK COMPANY.

OFFICE.

The place, however, was closed and no one around seemed connected with
it, though a number of milk carts were standing about. Close to these
was a long line of sheds, which in turn backed up against a great
brewery. A couple of men lounged at the door of the sheds. Peter walked
up to them, and asked if they could tell him where he could find any one
connected with the milk company.

"The boss is off for lunch," said one. "I can take an order, if that's
what you want."

Peter said it was not an order, and began chatting with the men. Before
he had started to question them, a third man, from inside the sheds,
joined the group at the door.