ted him, a section at a time "these
clothes 'ud pass," he considered gloomily, considering their worn and
unbusinesslike quality. "But with this" his fingers explored his chin
"folks'll think we only do business between sprees."

The manager of the foundry company was a French engineer who had been
trained in Pittsburg, a Frenchman of the new style, whose silky
sweetness of manner was the mask of a steely tenacity of purpose. He
had a little devilish black moustache, waxed at the points, like an
earl of melodrama, and with it a narrow cheerless smile that jeered
into futility Raleigh's effort to handle the subject on a basis of
easy good fellowship. The heart-to-heart talk degenerated into a keen
business controversy, involving the consultation of letter-files; it
took more time than Raleigh had to spare; and in the end nothing was
settled.

"You catch the airly train to London?" inquired the manager amiably,
when Raleigh was leaving.

"Yes," replied Raleigh warmly. "I'm going to get out of this while
I've got my fare left."

"Bon voyage," said the Frenchman smilingly. "You will present my
compliments to your father?"

"Not me," retorted Raleigh. "I'm not going to let him know I saw
you."

The machine-tool people, to whom his next visit was due, were
established south of the river, a long drive from the boulevards.
They were glad to receive him; there was a difficulty with some of
the new steels, and they took him into the shops that he might see
and appreciate the matter for himself. In the end it was necessary
for Raleigh to reset the big turret lathe and demonstrate the manner
of working, standing to the machine in his ancient tweed clothes
nobody offered him overalls while the swift belting slatted at his
elbow and fragments of shaved steel and a fine spray of oil welcomed
him back to his trade. The good odor of metal, the engine-room smell,
filled his nostrils; he was doing the thing which he could do best;
it was not till it was finished that he looked at his watch and
realized that the last item of his time-table had gone the way of the
first, and he had missed the two o'clock train.

He paid off his return cab in the Place de la Concorde and stood
doubtfully on the curb, watching it skate away with the traffic. His
baggage had gone on by the two o'clock train; he was committed now to
an afternoon in those ancient clothes with the oily stigma of the
workshop upon them. His hands, too, were black from hi