isted Peter. "My fa---- I was told to
give him this card."

"Why didn't you say you had a card in the first place?" was the gruff
question. "Give it here. You can sit down on that bench and wait."

As the accountant held out his hand Peter delivered up the card.

"Peter Strong--hump!" read the bookkeeper. "Sent by--oh, you're sent by
Mr. Coddington, are you? Some relative of his, perhaps."

"Mr. Coddington said I was to present the card to Mr. Tyler," Peter
answered, ignoring the implied query.

"He shall have it right away, Strong. You'll excuse my brusqueness. I
did not understand that you were sent here. We have so many young boys
applying for work that we have to pack them off in short order,"
explained the man glibly.

It was evident that he was not a little discomfited at the chill
reception he had accorded Peter, for he anxiously continued to reiterate
excuses and apologies. Fortunately in the midst of his explanations an
electric bell beside his desk rang and cut him short.

"That is Mr. Tyler now," he murmured. "I'll take in your card right
away."

Peter watched him as he hurried down the center of the long room and
disappeared into a little glass cage in the corner.

It was an oblong room in which reigned the din of typewriters. Over
against the farther wall a dozen or more men were bending so intently
over heavy, leather-bound ledgers that it seemed as if they must have
sat in that exact spot from the beginning of the world, adding, adding,
adding! Vacantly the lad's eye wandered along to the space just opposite
him where, framed in neat oak, hung a printed notice headed: "Labor Laws
of the State of Massachusetts." For the want of a better amusement Peter
sauntered over and began to read. The length of the working day, he
gathered, was ten hours except for boys under sixteen, whom the law
forbade working longer than eight hours. A smile passed over the lad's
face. Eight hours was surely long enough--from eight until twelve, and
from one until five. What if he had been sixteen instead of fifteen, and
been forced to get to the tannery at seven o'clock in the morning and
work until six at night! There must be boys who did. For the first time
in his life Peter was thankful that he was no older.

Just at this moment he saw the bookkeeper returning.

"If you please, Strong," said the older man with a deference that
contrasted markedly with his former greeting, "will you step this way?
Mr. Tyler is expe