Fortunately for the boys they escaped doing duty in the buffing-room.

Instead they worked throughout the year in the beamhouse and the different finishing departments of Factory 2. Although this factory was known as the sheepskin tannery they soon found that the skins of lambs, kids, and goats were also tanned and finished there. The skins of the young kids or goats were much too delicate for shoes and were made into thin flexible leather for kid gloves; the leather commonly known as kid and used for shoes was not really kid at all, the boys were told, but the skin of mature goats. Inquiry also brought forth the surprising information that there were between sixty and seventy different kinds of goatskin, the thickness and grain of the material depending on the climate and the conditions under which the animals had been raised. Some of these skins were imported from Brazil, some from Buenos Ayres, Mexico, France, Russia, India, China, Tripoli, or Arabia.

Goat breeders, the foreman said, killed their flocks at the season of the year when the men who collected skins made their rounds. These collectors went from one station to another and the goat herders, carrying bundles of skins on their backs, went down to the station nearest the hill country in which they were grazing their flocks and sold their stock to the collector, who promptly paid them in cash. When the collector had bought all the skins he wished he had them baled and sent them across country to the nearest seaport from which they were shipped to America. Many of the skins coming from India and Russia were sent first to London and then reshipped to the United States.

All goatskins, of no matter what variety, were tanned by the chrome process, and because they were smaller and of lighter weight than hides, tanned much more quickly. They were finished in many different ways: glazed kid, which was made in colors as well as black, had a shiny surface made by "striking" or burnishing the leather on the grain side; mat kid, soft and dull, was treated with oil and wax; suede kid was made in fancy colors for party shoes. These were some of the most important varieties. Then there was buckskin, the skin of the reindeer, most frequently buffed and finished in colors for gloves, or in white for shoes. Kangaroo was also cla.s.sed under the head of kid.

"Is patent kid finished in this factory?" inquired Peter one day.

"No. All the patent leathers--both patent kid and patent calf--have a factory all to themselves."

"I'd like to see it."

"Oh, you will some day, no doubt. I hear they need a new boss over there. The men hate Tolman. Who knows but you may get his job!"

Peter laughed, and so did the other men who chanced to be standing about.

"I guess there is no danger that Tolman will lose his place on my account," replied the boy with no little amus.e.m.e.nt.

Many months later when Peter met Tolman he recalled this incident and understood more fully why the men disliked him and felt that the patent leather factory needed a new head.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER VIII

A NARROW ESCAPE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

All this time, strangely enough, no hint of Peter Strong's ident.i.ty had become known. It was little short of a miracle that it should not have been discovered. Many circ.u.mstances, however, fostered the secret. In the first place none of the men from the tanneries ever came to the fashionable west side of the town; there was nothing to call them there.

Had they come the chances were that they would probably at some time have encountered Peter in company with his father and mother driving, motoring, or going to church. Several school friends had, it is true, unearthed the interesting information that Peter was "working," but the discovery was greeted with but scant curiosity. One's place in life closes up very quickly after one drops from sight. When the idol of the Milburn ball team had vanished it had caused great agitation and for a brief interval he had been sincerely mourned; then some one else had been raised up to fill the gap, life was readjusted, and soon Peter and his glorious record were forgotten.

Under other conditions this lack of loyalty on the part of his friends would have wounded Peter sorely; now, however, the feeling was one of mortified pride rather than pained regret. His own att.i.tude toward his former comrades had also in the meantime undergone a change. The boys he had looked up to, even the wisest of the seniors, seemed to him very young indeed, and their football worries pitiably unimportant. They were but preparing for the real work of the world while Peter, and others like him, were actually doing it. In consequence not a lad among all his former cla.s.smates was half so companionable or congenial as was his new friend, Nat Jackson.

And so, as the months sped past and Peter's second year in the tannery neared its end, he found himself not only content with the present life but more and more absorbed in each fresh experience of leather making.

The bond with the Jackson home strengthened, and the desire to make good at his "job" drove him to throw all the interest and power of his strong young life into his task.

Winter had added many facts to his growing knowledge about leather. Up to February he and Nat had been together in the beamhouse and seen the great care which was taken that the freshly tanned skins should not freeze. Fortunately for the Coddington Company most of their buildings were new and were equipped with steam-heated lofts where drying could be accomplished with little trouble; but one or two of the old buildings had shutters and in consequence were dependent upon drying the wet skins in the outer air. If the leather was allowed to freeze its fibre was greatly weakened and its value decreased. Accordingly during cold weather the shutters in the old factories had to be closed and the newly tanned hides piled on the floor and covered with heavy canvas. Of course the leather rolled badly, but since it was possible to dampen and stretch it into shape this difficulty could be overcome.

In the finishing department where the two lads were next sent many more new features swelled their increasing fund of information. Wherever they went they left a train of friends behind them. Peter seemed to be the general property of the tanneries. The men quarreled good-naturedly over which factory could really claim the Little Giant. To all this chaff Peter returned modest replies and the odd little chuckle that had so endeared him to his schoolmates. n.o.body could imitate that chuckle--n.o.body--although many of them tried. It was a part of Peter himself, a part of the good will he felt toward the world and everybody in it.

"You can't hear it without your heart warming toward the lad," remarked Carmachel one day.

Armed with this simple weapon Peter went on his way. He met the men about him with a frank expectation that they would like him, and they did. Nat also made friends, but as he was a much quieter boy most of those who sought him out did so because he shone with a glory reflected from Peter. Was he not Strong's chum? He must somehow be worth knowing if he had that honor.

This rough kindliness of the workmen robbed labor of much of its hardship. The two lads pushed eagerly ahead and were delighted when, toward spring, they were again promoted--this time to the department which turned out the tooled and embossed leathers.

This was one of the most fascinating phases of leather making and for a long time it had interested both Peter and Nat. It seemed too good to be true that they should now win positions in that factory.

"It's like the stories of the Arabian Nights, the way we've gone on and all the time kept together, Peter," Nat said one day. "Think of it! We have been given more money and better jobs all the time. I do not just see why, either. Lots of the men who started long ago in the beamhouse of Factory 1 are still there and haven't had a cent added to their pay envelope; and look at us! It's just luck--that's what it is."

"Not entirely luck, Nat," objected Peter, shaking his head. "Some of it, to be sure, is sheer good fortune; but some of it is hard work. If we had not made good every step of the way I doubt if we should have been sent on up the ladder."

"I wonder!" was Nat's thoughtful answer. "Do you know, Pete, I've sometimes thought that perhaps Mr. Coddington was keeping an eye on us and giving orders that we be shoved along. He could do it, I suppose, if he wanted to."

"I suppose he could," agreed Peter, uneasily, "but he is pretty busy, and is it likely----"

"No, of course it isn't. He did a lot for me when I was sick and it isn't reasonable to think he would do anything more. He wouldn't be called upon to. It is just that we are under a lucky star."

"I wish the star was a lucky enough one to send you a motorcycle then, Nat," laughed Peter. "You know this going off riding by myself is no sort of a stunt. I don't have any fun at all. Why, I would rather tramp the country on my two feet with you than to ride all over it without you. Somehow you've got to get a motorcycle, Nat--you've simply got to."

"And just how do you expect me to carry out such a crazy scheme?" was the derisive retort. "Maybe you've a plan to suggest whereby, entirely without a cent, I am to purchase a toy like that. It can't be done without Aladdin's lamp--at least I can't do it any other way. A motorcycle indeed! Why, I have not a cent to spend for such a thing. I couldn't even buy one of the pedals, let alone anything more. Forget it, Peter, and let's talk sense."

"I shan't forget it," Peter answered earnestly. "You are going to have a motorcycle if I have to--to--p.a.w.n my rubber boots to get you one."

They both laughed.

Peter was in great spirits.

This was their first day in the new factory and as the boys took up the novel task of learning how to make embossed leathers he made the inward resolve that every penny he earned there should be put into the bank toward a motorcycle for Nat.

The embossing department was indeed a wonderful place. Such magic as was wrought here! Pieces of dyed leather of every imaginable hue were put into great machines where heavy squares of copper, set in powerful presses, stamped upon them various patterns or impressions. The designs engraved on the dies were imitations of the texture of every known sort of fancy leather. There was alligator, lizard skin, pigskin, snakeskin and sealskin; even grained leather was copied. So perfect was the likeness that it seemed impossible to tell the embossed and artificially made material from the real.

"How is any one to know whether his card-case is real seal or not?"

queried Peter, aghast at the perfection of the dies.

The foreman shrugged his shoulders.

"I guess you'd have some trouble," said he. "Comfort yourself, though, that you are not the only one. Just this fall Mr. Coddington himself came in here to compare our leather with some pieces of seal he had had sent him. He put his samples down on the table and later on when he went to get them he could not tell for the life of him which they were. We had a great laugh about it, I can tell you. Yes, we do pretty good work here, and we have about all the orders for pocketbook and bag leather that we can fill. At present we are so busy that we are running all the dies, and that is why we need extra men."

Peter and Nat found that the department was indeed busy. All day they were upon their feet feeding pieces of leather into the presses, and it was their fatigue--a fact unimportant in itself--which led to a remarkable chain of events in the Coddington tanneries.

It happened that one morning Peter was sent up to the shipping room on the sixth floor of the factory with a bale of finished leather, and when he was ready to return he found that the elevator which he had used in coming up was out of order, and that he must now walk down the many flights of stairs. Accordingly he started, whistling as he went. When he reached the fifth floor he was much surprised to discover that it was vacant. A great expanse it was, flooded with sunshine. Peter paused to look about. Some unused packing-cases littered one corner of the room and instantly the thought flashed into his mind--what a warm, quiet, secluded spot for him and Nat to eat their lunch! Why, they could even bring a book and curl up in the shelter of the boxes and read. As it was still too chilly to go out there was no way, during the winter months, but to huddle somewhere under the machinery of the factory and eat one's lunch. Peter detested the arrangement, unavoidable as it was, and always rejoiced when the noon hour was over.

But here was an escape from such disagreeable conditions. Here was an unused room! Why should it not become a refuge from the noise, the dirt, and the turmoil of the factory? The plan seemed innocent enough, and when Peter confided it to Nat neither of them could see the slightest objection to it. In consequence, at noon time they crept up-stairs, and arranged a cozy little corner for themselves behind the packing-cases.

It was almost as good as playing Robinson Crusoe, this building a fortress and hiding inside it. Then, too, the constant chance of being discovered provided just the necessary tremor of excitement to make it interesting. What fun it was! They called their stronghold Sterling Castle, and many a joke and jibe they made concerning it--jokes at which they laughed heartily when they were by themselves.

The vast empty s.p.a.ce, they learned by cautious questioning, had originally been intended as a supply room; it was found, however, that it was not needed for this purpose and therefore it had been left in its present unoccupied condition.

There seemed not an iota of possibility that the place would ever be used and Peter and Nat exulted in the fact that they might lunch there undisturbed for the rest of their days if they so desired. For weeks they spent every noon hour in the sunshine behind their barricade talking softly together, eating their luncheon, and sometimes reading aloud.

Then came calamity.

It was on a sharp April day when the shelter of their sunny corner was especially welcome. Peter had just been rolling out one of the most stirring chapters of "Ivanhoe" when suddenly he paused, listening intently.

"It's the elevator!" he whispered. "It is stopping at this floor.

Somebody is getting out, Nat."