He saw a little group of workmen surrounding a man who appeared to be angry.
"I dell you dot is my shop!" one of the men was heard to exclaim—a man whom the others appeared to dragging away with main force.
"And I tell you, Baudermann, that you're mistaken!" insisted one, evidently a foreman. "I told you to work in the brazing department. What do you want to try to force your way into the heavy casting department for? Especially when we're doing one of the biggest jobs that we ever handled—making the new Swift cannon."
"Oh, iss dot vot vas going on in dere?" asked the man addressed as Baudermann. "Shure den, I makes a misdake. I ask your pardon, Herr BlackwelL I to mine own apartment will go. But I dinks my foreman sends me to dot place," and he indicated the casting shop from which he had just been barred.
"All right!" exclaimed the foreman. "Don't make that mistake again, or I'll dock you for lost time."
"Only just a twisted German employe, I guess," thought Ned, as he was about to turn back. "I was mistaken. He probably didn't understand where he was sent."
He passed by the group of men, who, laughing and jeering at the German, were showing him
