and chiaroscuro. When the men are here and ‘fervet opus,’ — the pot boils, — I cannot stop to see the picturesque.”
He opened his office, took his Report and began to complete it with ,s ;s, and .s in the right places.
All at once the bell of the Works rang out loud and clear. Presently the Superintendent became aware of a tramp and a bustle in the building. By and by came a tap at the office-door.
“Come in,” said Wade, and, enter young Perry Purtett.
Perry was a boy of fifteen, with hair the color of fresh sawdust, white eyebrows, and an uncommonly wide-awake look. Ringdove, his father’s successor, could never teach Perry the smirk, the grace, and the seductiveness of the counter, so the boy had found his place in the finishing-shop of the Foundry.
“Some of the hands would like to see you for half a jiff, Mr. Wade,” said he. “Will you come along, if you please?”
There was a good deal of easy swagger about Perry, as there is always in boys and men whose business is to watch the lunging of steam-engines. Wade followed him. Perry led the way with a jaunty air that said, —
“Room here! Out of the way, you lubberly bits of cast-iron! Be careful, now, you big derricks, or I’ll walk right over you! Room now for Me and My suite!”
