y good joke to him, although not such a joke that he ever
overlooked his own interests. He spruced up considerably outside of
working hours, did Con, and, although he was nearing forty, considered
himself very much a ladies' man, also an accomplished athlete, and
positively the last word in electrical knowledge. He was donning his
working garments in very leisurely fashion when a short,
broad-shouldered, thickset young man came back toward him from the
office.

"You're Con Ripley?" said the new-comer by way of introduction.

"Maybe," agreed Con. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Assistant Works," observed Professor Henry H. Bates.

"Oh!" said Mr. Ripley in some wonder, looking from the soft cap of Mr.
Bates to the broad, thick tan shoes of Mr. Bates, and then back up to
the wide-set eyes. "I hadn't heard about it."

"No?" responded Mr. Bates. "Well, I came in to tell you. I don't know
enough about electricity to say whether you feed it with a spoon or
from a bottle, but I'm here, just the same, to notice that the juice
slips through the wires all right to-night, all right."

"The hell you are!" exclaimed Mr. Ripley, taking sudden umbrage at
both tone and words, and also at the physical attitude of Mr. Bates,
which had grown somewhat threatening. "All right, Mr. Works," and Mr.
Ripley began to step out of his overalls; "jump right in and push
juice till you get black in the face, while I take a little vacation.
I've been wanting a lay-off for a long time."

"You'll lay on, Bo," dissented Mr. Bates. "Nix on the vacation. That's
just the point. You're going to stick on the job, and I'm going to
stick within four feet of you till old Jim-jams Jones shakes along to
get his morning's morning; and it will be a sign of awful bad luck for
you if the lights in this end of town flicker a single flick any time
to-night."

"Is that it?" Mr. Ripley wanted to know. "And if they should happen to
flicker some what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know yet," said Biff. "I'll knock your block off first and
think about it afterward!"

Mr. Ripley hastily drew his overalls back on and slipped the straps
over his shoulders with a snap.

"You'll tell me when you're going to do it, won't you?" he asked
banteringly, and, a full head taller than Mr. Bates, glared down at
him a moment in contempt. Then he laughed. "I'll give you ten to one
the lights will flicker," he offered to bet. "I wouldn't stop such a
cunning chance for exercise