to the grins and winks the workmen were exchanging
behind his back. The father opened the shut street door of the cooperage,
and, when the son came up, pointed to the big, white letters: "No
Admittance. Apply at the Office."

"How did you get in here?" he asked.

"I called in at the window and ordered one of the men to open the door,"
explained the son.

"Ordered." The father merely repeated the word.

"Requested, then," said the son, feeling that he was displaying
praiseworthy patience with "the governor's" eccentricities.

"Which workman?"

The son indicated a man who was taking a dinner pail from under a
bench at the nearest window. The father called to him: "Jerry!" Jerry
came quickly.

"Why did you let this young--young _gentleman_ in among us?"

"I saw it was Mr. Arthur," began Jerry.

"Then you saw it was not anyone who has any business here. Who gave you
authority to suspend the rules of this factory?"

"Don't, father!" protested Arthur. "You certainly can't blame him. He
knew I'd make trouble if he didn't obey."

"He knew nothing of the sort," replied Hiram Ranger. "I haven't been
dealing with men for fifty years--However, next time you'll know what to
do, Jerry."

"He warned me it was against the rules," interjected Arthur.

A triumphant smile gleamed in the father's eyes at this vindication of
the discipline of the mills. "Then he knew he was doing wrong. He must be
fined. You can pay the fine, young _gentleman_--if you wish."

"Certainly," murmured Arthur. "And now, let's go to lunch."

"To dinner," corrected the father; "your mother and I have dinner in the
middle of the day, not lunch."

"To dinner, then. Anything you please, pa, only let's go."

When they were at the office and the father was about to enter the inner
room to change his clothes, he wheeled and said: "Why ain't you at
Harvard, passing your examinations?"

Arthur's hands contracted and his eyes shifted; in a tone to which
repression gave a seeming lightness, he announced: "The exams, are over.
I've been plucked."

The slang was new to Hiram Ranger, but he understood. In important
matters his fixed habit was never to speak until he had thought well;
without a word he turned and, with a heaviness that was new in his
movements, went into the dressing room. The young man drew a cautious but
profound breath of relief--the confession he had been dreading was over;
his father knew the worst. "If the governor only knew the wo