such as you, work on the rock pile." And he wheeled his chair toward
his desk again.

"But," said Dick, "I'm hungry--I must do something--I'm not a
beggar--I'll earn every cent you pay me."

"I tell you no," shouted the other. "I won't have men about me who
look above their position," and he picked up his pen.

"But, Sir," said Dick again, "what am I to do?"

"I don't care what you do," returned the other. "There is a stone-yard
here for such as you."

"Sir," answered Dick, standing very straight, his face as pale as
death. "Sir, you will yet learn that it does matter very much what
such fellows as I do, and some day you will be glad to apologize for
your words this morning. I am no more worthy to work on the rock pile
than yourself. As a man, I am every bit your equal, and will live to
prove it. Good morning, Sir." And he marched out of the office like
a soldier on parade, leaving the young lady at the typewriter motionless
with amazement, and her employer dumb with rage.

What induced him to utter such words Dick could not say; he only knew
that they were true, and they seemed somehow to be forced from him;
though in spite of his just anger he laughed at the ridiculousness of
the situation before he was fairly away from the building.

The factory whistles blew for dinner, but there was no dinner for Dick;
they blew again for work at one o'clock, but still there was nothing