He went to the door, and nearly collided with some one who was on the
point of entering at the same time.

"How d' do, Larry?" was the off-hand salutation of the newcomer, who was
a short, stout man whom the boy recognized as Gideon Stark, a former
watchman in the works, who had of late been employed as a helper in the
moulding department.

"Where is Jake?" Larry asked.

"Sick," was the sententious reply.

"And you're going to take his place to-night?"

"I'm going to try."

"Does Mr. Gardner know about it?"

"I suppose so. Jake said he sent him word."

"All right, then, if he knows. Only," and Larry looked at the man,
sharply, "you know the engineer can't leave till the watchman comes, and
you're not the watchman unless you're regularly hired."

The short man scowled, and then, as though suddenly thinking a frown was
not the best passport for gaining good-will, he smiled, at the same time
taking out the big bunch of keys which the watchman usually carried.

"I couldn't get them from anybody but Jake, could I?"