"If there isn't," volunteered the superintendent, "I can send you over
plenty. But the use of such stuff as that would leave some joints
loose, and make a breakdown of the boat's machinery certain."

"You see, Owen," spoke the yard's owner, quietly, turning to the foreman,
"you're letting your dislike for these boys spoil your value here as
foreman."

"I've stood all I'm going to stand here," shouted Joshua Owen, in
a tempest of rage, as he snatched off his apron. "You're letting
these boys run the job--"

"Nothing of the sort," broke in Farnum, icily. "They haven't tried
to run anything. But any workman is entitled to complain when he's
expected to perform impossibilities with poor material."

"There ye go, upholding 'em again," roared the foreman. "I'm through.
I've quit!"

"I don't know as that's a bad idea, either, Owen," replied Mr. Farnum,
in the same cool voice. "When you don't care how you botch a job
it's time for you to walk out. You can call at the office this afternoon,
and Mr. Partridge will give you your pay."

Joshua Owen glared, amazedly, at his employer. Then, seeing that
his threat had been taken at par, and that he was really through here,
the infuriated man wheeled like a flash, leaping at Jack Benson from
behind and striking the boy to the floor. But Grant Andrews, O'brien
and others leaped at him and pulled him away.