d Joshua Owen, in
a tempest of rage, as he snatched off his apron. "You're letting
these boys run the job--"

"Nothing of the sort," broke in Farnum, icily. "They haven't tried
to run anything. But any workman is entitled to complain when he's
expected to perform impossibilities with poor material."

"There ye go, upholding 'em again," roared the foreman. "I'm through.
I've quit!"

"I don't know as that's a bad idea, either, Owen," replied Mr. Farnum,
in the same cool voice. "When you don't care how you botch a job
it's time for you to walk out. You can call at the office this afternoon,
and Mr. Partridge will give you your pay."

Joshua Owen glared, amazedly, at his employer. Then, seeing that
his threat had been taken at par, and that he was really through here,
the infuriated man wheeled like a flash, leaping at Jack Benson from
behind and striking the boy to the floor. But Grant Andrews, O'brien
and others leaped at him and pulled him away.

Jacob Farnum pointed up the spiral staircase, as Jack Benson leaped
to his feet, hardly hurt at all.

"You can't get out of here too quickly, Owen!" warned the owner.
"If you linger, I'll have you helped out of this boat! Grant Andrews,
you're foreman here from now on."

"First of all, see that that fellow gets out of here in double-quick
time."

"Come along, Dan!" called Owen, hoarsely to his nephew, as he started
up the stairway.

"Yes, run along, Danny," added Farnum, mockingly. "You're no better
than your uncle!"

After the pair had departed it took all hands at least five minutes
to cool down from their indignation. Then they resumed work, and
all went smoothly under the quiet, just, alert new foreman, Grant
Andrews.

That afternoon, as Jack crossed the yard, going on an errand from
Mr. Pollard to the office, he encountered Josh Owen and his nephew.
The pair had just collected their pay from the superintendent. They
were talking together, in low, ugly tones, when they caught sight
of the boy.

Though Benson saw them in season to avoid coming close to them, he
neither dodged the pair nor courted a meeting. He would have passed
without speaking, but Joshua Owen seized the boy by one arm.

"I s'pose ye feel me and you had trouble, and you got the best of it?"
leered the former foreman, then scowled. "But listen to me, younker.
Ye're going to run into trouble, and quicker than ye think, at that.
That old cigar shaped death-trap won't float--not