one of the city-papers, getting up a series of reviews of the
leading manufactories. The other gentlemen had accompanied them
merely for amusement. They were silent until the notes were
finished, drying their feet at the furnaces, and sheltering
their faces from the intolerable heat. At last the overseer
concluded with--

"I believe that is a pretty fair estimate, Captain."

"Here, some of you men!" said Kirby, "bring up those boards. We
may as well sit down, gentlemen, until the rain is over. It
cannot last much longer at this rate."

"Pig-metal,"--mumbled the reporter,--"um! coal facilities,--um!
hands employed, twelve hundred,--bitumen,--um!--all right, I
believe, Mr. Clarke;--sinking-fund,--what did you say was your
sinking-fund?"

"Twelve hundred hands?" said the stranger, the young man who
had first spoken. "Do you control their votes, Kirby?"

"Control? No." The young man smiled complacently. "But my
father brought seven hundred votes to the polls for his
candidate last November. No force-work, you understand,--only
a speech or two, a hint to form themselves into a society, and
a bit of red and blue bunting to make them a flag. The
Invincible Roughs,--I believe that is their name. I forget the
motto: 'Our country's hope,' I think."

There was a laugh. The young man talking to Kirby sat with an