"He has not been so well
lately, George. I wonder why he didn't come to the office first as
usual."
"He sometimes slips in back that way, you know," returned the
superintendent.
"He really ought not to be here," said the young man. "I wish--" He
hesitated.
"He's generally in a state of mind when he comes in like that," said
George. "You're not needing a goat, are you, boy?"
John smiled. "There's not a thing wrong in the plant so far as I know,
George."
"I don't know of anything either," returned the other, "but we may not
know all the way. There's one thing sure, the old man ought not to be
wandering through the works alone. There's some of those rough-necks
would--well it's too darned easy, sometimes, for accidents to happen,
do you see? I'll rustle out there and stick around convenient like.
You'd better stay where you are as if you didn't know he was on the
job. And remember, son, if you _should_ need a goat, I'm qualified. If
anything has happened--whether it has or he only thinks it has--just
you blame it on to old George. I'll understand."
The work was at the height of its swing when burly Max Gardner paused a
second to straighten his back and wipe the sweat from his sooty face.
As he stooped again to his heavy task, he said to his mates in a voice
that rumbled up from the depths of his naked, hairy chest, "Get a gate
on y'--get a gate on y'--y' rough-necks.
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