e have
no practical jokes here."

"It isn't a joke," Peter said. "I tried to find you and tell you that a
storm was coming. When I couldn't, I gave the signal myself."

"Who's running this factory, Strong--you or I? Tell me that."

"You wouldn't want the stock ruined, Mr. Tolman."

"That's my affair. Storm! There isn't going to be any storm! You're a
meddlesome young scoundrel! Just because you have had some notice taken
of you over at the other works you think you can come in here and run
the whole place. Well, I'll show you that you can't manage my business."

Fuming with anger Tolman sprang forward, his arm upraised.

"Don't you touch that boy, Tolman!" cried a voice from the crowd.

It was McCarthy.

But the man was too enraged to heed the warning.

With a quick thrust he struck out toward the lad.

All the blood in Peter's body seemed to throb in his cheeks. Swiftly as
a deer he leaped forward and, catching the upraised arm, he held it as
if in a vise.

"Let me go! Let me go, or it will be the worse for you," blustered
Tolman, struggling vainly to wrench himself free from Peter's grasp.

"I shall not let you go until you cool down a bit, Mr. Tolman," replied
Peter firmly.

"You had no right to meddle," snapped Tolman.

"I had the same right that any man has to prevent the destruction of the
company's property," was Peter's retort.

"You let me go this minute, you young cub, or you'll regret it," yelled
Tolman in a fury. "Who are you that you think you can come here and give
orders to me and my men?"

Fearlessly Peter met his eye. Then he sent the man spinning into the
crowd.

"Who am I, Mr. Tolman? Who am I? I'll answer that question. I am Peter
Coddington, and I have the right to protect my father's property
whenever I think it is necessary."

An awed silence fell upon the group of men.

[Illustration: HE SENT THE MAN SPINNING INTO THE CROWD]

No one doubted the truth of the lad's assertion. It spoke in the dignity
of his whole figure; in the proud poise of his head; in the
unflinching gaze with which he met their eyes.

Of course he was Peter Coddington!

Why had they never guessed it before?

More than one man, as the work of carrying in the skins was completed,
reviewed in his mind Peter's career at the tanneries and marveled that
he had not suspected the secret from the first.

Tolman, astounded at the shock of the discovery, paused, then shuffled
shamefacedly forward as if to of