Asa Partridge, a man of long experience in steam-fitting, took the chunk of cement, examining it carefully, then picked it to pieces before he rejoined dryly: 

“Why, the boy wins, of course.  Any apprentice ought to know that cement as dry as this stuff can’t make a tight joint.”

“Isn’t there some better cement than this around?” called out Mr. Farnum.

“If there isn’t,” volunteered the superintendent, “I can send you over plenty.  But the use of such stuff as that would leave some joints loose, and make a breakdown of the boat’s machinery certain.”

“You see, Owen,” spoke the yard’s owner, quietly, turning to the foreman, “you’re letting your dislike for these boys spoil your value here as foreman.”

“I’ve stood all I’m going to stand here,” shouted Joshua Owen, in a tempest of rage, as he snatched off his apron.  “You’re letting these boys run the job—­”

“Nothing of the sort,” broke in Farnum, icily.  “They haven’t tried to run anything.  But any workman is entitled to complain when he’s expected to perform impossibilities with poor material.”

“There ye go, upholding ’em again,” roared the foreman.  “I’m through.  I’ve quit!”

“I don’t know as that’s a bad idea, either, Owen,” replied Mr. Farnum, in the same cool voice.  “When you don’t care how you botch a job it’s time for you to walk out.  You can call at the office this afternoon, and Mr. Partridge will give you your pay.”

Joshua Owen glared, amazedly, at his employer.  Then, seeing that his threat had been taken at par, and that he was really through here, the infuriated man wheeled like a flash, leaping at Jack Benson from behind and striking the boy to the floor.  But Grant Andrews, O’brien and others leaped at him and pulled him away.

Jacob Farnum pointed up the spiral staircase, as Jack Benson leaped to his feet, hardly hurt at all.

“You can’t get out of here too quickly, Owen!” warned the owner.  “If you linger, I’ll have you helped out of this boat!  Grant Andrews, you’re foreman here from now on.”

“First of all, see that that fellow gets out of here in double-quick time.”

“Come along, Dan!” called Owen, hoarsely to his nephew, as he started up the stairway.

“Yes, run along, Danny,” added Farnum, mockingly.  “You’re no better than your uncle!”

After the pair had departed it took all hands at least five minutes to cool down from their indignation.  Then they resumed work, and all went smoothly under the quiet, just, alert new foreman, Grant Andrews.

That afternoon, as Jack crossed the yard, going on an errand from Mr. Pollard to the office, he encountered Josh Owen and his nephew.  The pair had just collected their pay from the superintendent.  They were talking together, in low, ugly tones, when they caught sight of the boy.

Though Benson saw them in season to avoid coming close to them, he neither dodged the pair nor courted a meeting.  He would have passed without speaking, but Joshua Owen seized the boy by one arm.