ere watching with keen interest a man
who was descending the steel framework. It seemed a dangerous,
precarious business, but he came as swiftly as an ordinary mortal upon a
staircase.

"My word!" said the conductor, glancing up. "Jim has got a move on this
morning."

"Who is he?" asked Commander Stangate.

"That's Jim Barnes, sir, the best workman that ever went on a scaffold.
He fair lives up there. Every bolt and rivet are under his care. He's a
wonder, is Jim."

"But don't argue religion with him," said one of the group.

The attendant laughed.

"Ah, you know him, then," said he. "No, don't argue religion with him."

"Why not?" asked the officer.

"Well, he takes it very hard, he does. He's the shining light of his
sect."

"It ain't hard to be that," said the knowing one. "I've heard there are
only six folk in the fold. He's one of those who picture heaven as the
exact size of their own back street conventicle and every one else left
outside it."

"Better not tell him so while he's got that hammer in his hand," said
the conductor, in a hurried whisper. "Hallo, Jim, how goes it this
morning?"

The man slid swiftly down the last thirty feet, and then balanced
himself on a cross-bar while he looked at the little group in the lift.
As he stood there, clad in a leather suit, with his pliers and other
tools dangling from his brown belt, he was a figure to please the eye of
an artist. The man was very tall and gaunt, with great straggling limbs
and every appearance of giant strength. His face was a remarkable one,
noble and yet sinister, with dark eyes and hair, a prominent hooked
nose, and a beard which flowed over his chest. He steadied himself with
one knotted hand, while the other held a steel hammer dangling by his
knee.

"It's all ready aloft," said he. "I'll go up with you if I may." He
sprang down from his perch and joined the others in the lift.

"I suppose you are always watching it," said the young lady.

"That is what I am engaged for, miss. From morning to night, and often
from night to morning, I am up here. There are times when I feel as if I
were not a man at all, but a fowl of the air. They fly round me, the
creatures, as I lie out on the girders, and they cry to me until I find
myself crying back to the poor soulless things."

"It's a great charge," said the Commander, glancing up at the wonderful
tracery of steel outlined against the deep blue sky.

"Aye, sir, and there is not a nut