"Who is the master-workman here?" I asked.

"I am," said a man in blue overalls.

"Well," said I, "why don't you fix those steam-fittings?"

There was a silence. The man in the silk hat smirked.

"Well?" said I.

"Come, come, that's all right," said the man in the silk hat. "These
men know their business without you tellin' them."

"Who are you?" I demanded, sharply.

"Oh, I'm just a walkin' delegate," he replied, with a sneer. "There's
a strike in New York and I come over here to tie this here exposition
up. See?"

"You mean to say you won't let these men finish their work?" I asked,
thunderstruck.

"That's about it, young man," he said, coolly.

Furious, I glanced at my watch, then at the thermometers, which now
registered only 75°. Already I could hear the first-comers of the
audience arriving in the body of the hall. Already a stage-hand was
turning up the footlights and dragging chairs and tables hither and
thither.