possible, to the polished brightness of the powerful arms and cylinders;
but, before he had finished the work, a gruff voice caused him to look
up.

"You, is it?" the voice questioned.

The speaker was a young man of twenty-three, who was employed in the
works. Larry had seen him a great many times, for he was always
loitering about in the boiler and engine rooms when his father was
away.

This was contrary to rules, yet Larry, being so much younger, disliked
to order the young man out. But as he saw him standing in the doorway,
then it occurred to him that, if his father was to be absent several
days, it might be better to put a stop to intrusion at once.

"Yes, I'm on duty," Larry answered, resuming his work.

Steve Croly coolly ascended the two or three steps to the floor of the
engine-room, and, picking up a piece of waste, began to rub the polished
cylinder-head which was nearest.

Larry saw that the rag which Croly was using was making streaks on the
polished surface.

"See what you're doing, Steve!" he cried, pointing at the oily smutch.

"Why don't you have some clean waste round here, then?" Croly retorted.
"When I used to run an engine, I had something to clean it with, instead
of using waste after it was soaked full of oil."