fellow--what luck?"

"I think I'm on," said Bojo, slowly, feeling all at once shelved and
abandoned. "The last thing people downtown have any use for, Granning,
is a busted broker!"

"You have found that out, have you?" said Granning quickly.

Bojo nodded.

"Well, you're right." He sat down. "See here, old sport, why don't you
do the thing you ought to do?"

"What's that?"

"Go down and see the old man and tell him you're ready to start for the
mills to-morrow!"

"No, no, I can't do that."

"You want to do it, at heart. It's only pride that's keeping you."

"Perhaps, but that pride means a lot to me," said Bojo doggedly. "Never!
I'm not going to him a failure. So shut up about that."

"Well, what are you going to do?"

Bojo began to whistle, looking out the window.

"Suppose I were to offer you a job over at the factory?"

"Would you?" said Bojo, looking up with a leaping heart.

"That means starting in on rock bottom--as I did. Up at six, there at
seven--beginning as a day laborer on a beautifully oily and smudgy
blanking machine among a bunch of Polacks."

"Will you give me a chance?" said Bojo breathlessly.

"Will you stick it out?"

"You bet I will!"

"Done!"

And they shook hands with a resounding smack that seemed to explode all
Bojo's pent-up feelings.

"All right, young fellow," said Granning with a grin. "To-morrow we'll
find out what sort of stuff you're made of!"

CHAPTER XXI

BOJO IN OVERALLS

The day he entered the employ of the Dyer-Garnett Caster and Foundry
Company was like an open door into the wonderland of industry. The sun,
red and wrapped in dull mists, came stolidly out of the east as they
crossed the river in the unearthly grays, with electric lights showing
in wan ferry-boats. When they entered the factory a few minutes before
seven, the laborers were passing the time-clocks, punching their
tickets, Polack and Saxon, Hun and American, Irish and Italian, the men
a mixture of slouchy, unskilled laborers and keen, strong mechanics,
home-owners and thinkers, the women of rather a higher class,
bright-eyed, deft, with a prevailing instinct for coquetry.

In the offices Dyer, lanky New Englander, engineer and inventor, and
Garnett, the president, self-made, simple and shrewd, both in their
shirt sleeves, gave him a cordial welcome. Unbeknown to Bojo, Granning
had given a flattering picture of his future destination as heir
apparent to the famous Crocker mills an