Reade," expostulated the late foreman, "I'm not going to be thrown
out of my job like this."
"Which especial way of being thrown out do you prefer then?" Tom queried,
dryly.
"I'm not going to be put out of my job until I've had at least one good
talk with you," insisted the foreman.
"I'm afraid the time has passed for talking with you," Reade responded,
turning toward the shore. "You lost a great chance, to-night, to serve
the company with distinction, and your negligence cost the company a lot
of money through the second explosion. Are you coming out of that
boat---or shall I come back after you?"
Evarts rose, with a surly air. He stepped slowly ashore, after which one
of the crew cast off. The engine began to move, and the "Morton" started
back to her post.
"Oh, you feel fine and important, just at this minute!" grumbled the
discharged foreman, under his breath, glaring wickedly at the broad back
of the young chief engineer. "But I'll do something to take the
importance out of you before very long, Tom Reade!"
Truth to tell, Tom, though he was still alert to the interests of his
employers, felt anything but important. The thought of Harry Hazelton's
unknown fate caused a great, choking lump in his throat as Reade stepped
from the pier to land.
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