ring the night watchman, and he waited with his
feeling of uneasiness growing stronger every moment until the time was
up; and the watchman had not come.

"He is usually ahead of time, instead of behindhand," Larry thought.

He went to the door, and nearly collided with some one who was on the
point of entering at the same time.

"How d' do, Larry?" was the off-hand salutation of the newcomer, who was
a short, stout man whom the boy recognized as Gideon Stark, a former
watchman in the works, who had of late been employed as a helper in the
moulding department.

"Where is Jake?" Larry asked.

"Sick," was the sententious reply.

"And you're going to take his place to-night?"

"I'm going to try."

"Does Mr. Gardner know about it?"

"I suppose so. Jake said he sent him word."

"All right, then, if he knows. Only," and Larry looked at the man,
sharply, "you know the engineer can't leave till the watchman comes, and
you're not the watchman unless you're regularly hired."

The short man scowled, and then, as though suddenly thinking a frown was
not the best passport for gaining good-will, he smiled, at the same time
taking out the big bunch of keys which the watchman usually carried.

"I couldn't get them from anybody but Jake, could I?"

"I suppose not."

"Well, if your father has a right to send you to take his place when he
can't come, I think Jake can hire me to take his place when _he's_ sick.
That's about the size of it, my boy. But if you ain't satisfied, you
better go up and see the super. You know the kind of row he makes when
the hands follow him home to ask questions. He always says, if a man
can't think of enough to pester him about in the ten or twelve hours
he's around the works, they needn't try to follow him home with their
complaints."

"I will go to supper, Gid," said Larry, quietly.

But the man followed him to the door.

"Your father sick?" he asked.

"No."

"Gone away?"

"Yes."

"Coming back in the morning?"

"I don't know."

Gid snapped his fingers and forgot himself so far again as to scowl.

"Well, you're cross to-night; I'll say that for you, Larry," he
declared, bluntly, and then turned back into the boiler-room and shut
the door.

"There is something wrong, and no mistake about it," was Larry's
conviction as he hurried home.

He was not too deeply worried to eat--a healthy boy seldom is. His
mother was more cheerful than she had been at dinner-time; or, at least,