as still hot with his cousin's insult. As
he turned into the yard, not with his usual swinging gait, but with a
quick, wide step, there was an unpleasant dilation about young
Shackford's nostrils.

Torrini was seated on a block of granite in front of the upper
sheds, flourishing a small chisel in one hand and addressing the men,
a number of whom had stopped work to listen to him. At sight of
Richard they made a show of handling their tools, but it was so clear
something grave was going to happen that the pretense fell through.
They remained motionless, resting on their mallets, with their eyes
turned towards Richard. Torrini followed the general glance, and
pause din his harangue.

"Talk of the devil!" he muttered, and then, apparently continuing
the thread of his discourse, broke into a strain of noisy
declamation.

Richard walked up to him quietly.

"Torrini," he said, "you can't be allowed to speak here, you
know."

"I can speak where I like," replied Torrini gravely. He was drunk,
but the intoxication was not in his tongue. His head, as Denyven had
asserted, was as clear as a fog-horn.

"When you are sober, you can come to the desk and get your pay and
your kit. You are discharged from the yard."

Richard was standing within two paces of the man, who looked up
with an uncertain smile, as if he had not quite taken in the sense of
the words. Then, suddenly straightening himself, he exclaimed,--

"Slocum don't dare do it!"

"But I do."

"You!"

"When I do a thing Mr. Slocum backs me."

"But who backs Slocum,--the Association, may be?"

"Certainly the Association ought to. I want you to leave the yard
now."

"He backs Slocum," said Torrini, settling himself on the block
again, "and Slocum backs down," at which there was a laugh among the
men.

Richard made a step forward.

"Hands off!" cried a voice from under the sheds.

"Who said that?" demanded Richard, wheeling around. No one
answered, but Richard had recognized Durgin's voice. "Torrini, if you
don't quit the yard in two minutes by the clock yonder, I shall put
you out by the neck. Do you understand?"

Torrini glared about him confusedly for a moment, and broke into
voluble Italian; then, without a warning gesture, sprung to his feet
and struck at Richard. A straight red line, running vertically the
length of his cheek, showed where the chisel had grazed him. The
shops were instantly in a tumult, the men dropping their tools and
stumbling