Tarbox, too, was a Saxon six-footer of thirty.  But he had sagged one inch for want of self-respect.  He had spoilt his color and dyed his moustache.  He wore foxy-black pantaloons tucked into red-topped boots, with the name of the maker on a gilt shield.  His red flannel shirt was open at the neck and caught with a black handkerchief.  His damaged tile was in permanent crape for the late lamented Poole.

“We allow,” says Bill, in a tone halfway between Lablache’s De profundis and a burglar’s bull-dog’s snarl, “that we’ve did our work as good as need to be did.  We ’xpect we know our rights.  We ha’n’t ben treated fair, and I’m damned if we’re go’n’ to stan’ it.”

“Stop!” says Wade.  “No swearing in this shop!”

“Who the Devil is go’n’ to stop it?” growled Tarbox.

“I am.  Do you step back now, and let some one come out who can talk like a gentleman!”

“I’m damned if I stir till I’ve had my say out,” says Bill, shaking himself up and looking dangerous.

“Go back!”

Wade moved close to him, also looking dangerous.

“Don’t tech me!” Bill threatened, squaring off.

He was not quick enough.  Wade knocked him down flat on a heap of moulding-sand.  The hat in mourning for Poole found its place in a puddle.

Bill did not like the new Emperor’s method of compelling kotou.  Round
One of the mill had not given him enough.

He jumped up from his soft bed and made a vicious rush at Wade.  But he was damaged by evil courses.  He was fighting against law and order, on the side of wrong and bad manners.

The same fist met him again, and heavier.

Up went his heels!  Down went his head!  It struck the ragged edge of a fresh casting, and there he lay stunned and bleeding on his hard black pillow.

“Ring the bell to go to work!” said Wade, in a tone that made the ringer jump.  “Now, men, take hold and do your duty and everything will go smooth!”

The bell clanged in.  The line looked at its prostrate champion, then at the new boss standing there, cool and brave, and not afraid of a regiment of sledge-hammers.

They wanted an Executive.  They wanted to be well governed, as all men do.  They wanted disorder out and order in.  The new man looked like a man, talked fair, hit hard.  Why not all hands give in with a good grace and go to work like honest fellows?

The line broke up.  The hands went off to their duty.  And there was never any more insubordination at Dunderbunk.

This was June.

Skates in the next chapter.

Love in good time afterward shall glide upon the scene.

CHAPTER IV.

A CHRISTMAS GIFT.

The pioneer sunbeam of next Christmas morning rattled over the Dunderbunk hills, flashed into Richard Wade’s eyes, waked him, and was off, ricochetting across the black ice of the river.