An awed silence fell upon the group of men.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE SENT THE MAN SPINNING INTO THE CROWD]

No one doubted the truth of the lad's a.s.sertion. It spoke in the dignity of his whole figure; in the proud poise of his head; in the unflinching gaze with which he met their eyes.

Of course he was Peter Coddington!

Why had they never guessed it before?

More than one man, as the work of carrying in the skins was completed, reviewed in his mind Peter's career at the tanneries and marveled that he had not suspected the secret from the first.

Tolman, astounded at the shock of the discovery, paused, then shuffled shamefacedly forward as if to offer an apology, but no word came to his lips.

The awkwardness of the stillness was dispelled by Peter himself, who, turning at last to the men, said simply: "We made good time getting the leather under cover, and we were none too soon. See--here comes the rain!"

How the news sped through the vast tanneries! It seemed fairly to leap from one building to another. On every hand the men took up the tale and discussed it.

Peter Strong--their Peter--was the president's son! He was Peter Coddington!

It was all too wonderful to believe; and yet, after all, it was so simple!

Why hadn't they known it all along, the workmen asked each other.

"He was a thoroughbred from the minute he began pitching calfskins!"

e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Carmachel. "Think of it! Think of his pitching calfskins in my old brown overalls--him as could have picked out any job in the tannery that he chose!"

"And think of the months he put in working in the beamhouses too!

Slaving away there in the smell and heat just like any of the rest of us!" said another man.

"And how he duffed in in the other department! He wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty! And what a worker he was!"

"And mind how he stood by us men and got the park for us--stood up and faced his father man to man. The Little Giant!"

"Aye! Don't forget the ball playing!"

"And how he brought his lunch every day like the rest of us!"

On every hand the men admitted that their idol, Peter, was indeed worthy to be the son of the president of the great Coddington tanneries.

"And yet I can't help thinking," reflected Carmachel, "that in spite of his parentage, and his money, and everything else he really is our Peter--a product of the works, just as his father said."

There was little work done in the factories that afternoon. Excitement ran too high. Over and over the men talked in undertones of the wonderful story. Of course no one questioned its veracity and yet there was no rest until the tale was taken to Mr. Coddington for confirmation.

It was Tyler who first ventured to broach the matter to the president.

He related the chain of events leading up to Peter's avowal and then, receiving no reply, fumbled uncomfortably at his scarf-pin and wished he had not spoken.

Finally Mr. Coddington glanced up, answering with characteristic terseness:

"Yes, it is true that Peter is my boy, Tyler," he said. "Not a bad sort either, as boys go."

"Why, he is one boy in a hundred, Mr. Coddington--a son to be proud of!"

burst out Tyler.

"Oh, Peter has possibilities," admitted the president with a smile.

But he would say nothing more. Instead he shut himself up in his office where he went determinedly to work. But those who peeped through the gla.s.s door could see that throughout the whole afternoon the smile that had lighted his face still lingered there faintly.

He smiled as he rode home in his big limousine too, and he continued to smile during dinner, but he said nothing.

Peter, who was watching him closely, thought every instant he would either make some allusion to the events of the day or make some opening so that he could do so.

Now that all was over the boy was not a little chagrined that in a moment of anger he should have let his secret pa.s.s his lips. Henceforth the game was spoiled. Probably his father thought he should not have lost his temper and blurted out the truth. It was a foolish thing to do and now that he thought it over coolly Peter regretted that he had done it. He longed to talk with his father, but he did not just know how to begin.

He was finally spared the embarra.s.sment of confession or explanation, for as the president pushed back his chair from the table he remarked casually:

"So your secret is out, son."

"Yes, sir. I didn't mean to tell, but I got so angry at Tolman, Father."

"Well, perhaps it is just as well to travel under your own name from now on. It's a rather good name. And by the by, Peter, here is a receipt for the money Strong owes me on that motorcycle. We'll cancel that debt. The company was saved several times the amount by getting that lot of patent leather in out of the rain to-day."

"But I can't take money for that, Father," stammered Peter.

"Strong can. That will close my dealings with him. To me it is worth a far bigger sum than that to get my own boy back again."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XII

MR. CODDINGTON TELLS A STORY

One of the first things Peter did the next afternoon was to go with his father and mother to Mrs. Jackson's and relate to her himself all the happenings of the previous day. The story was, to be sure, no surprise to her, for had not Nat rushed home and incoherently rattled it off? But how much nicer it was to hear it from Peter! The boy spared no detail of the truth; he told of his school, his failures there, of his disgust at being put into the tanneries, of his desire to conceal his ident.i.ty.

During the tale no one interrupted him. Mr. and Mrs. Coddington, Mrs.

Jackson, and Nat all listened intently to the end. Then when the story was at last finished Peter looked up and smiled at Nat's mother.

"So one of your sons, you see, has been sailing under a false name, Mrs.

Jackson," he concluded whimsically. "Do you think you can forgive him?"

"You must try," pleaded Mr. Coddington, putting in a laughing word. "My son has been doing the same thing and yet I've overlooked it."

Everybody smiled and the tension was instantly broken.

"But to think neither Nat nor I ever suspected you, Peter!" mused Mrs.