“What’s that?” he asked, pointing across the river. “Kind of a furniture-factory. Make all sorts of things. That new buildin’ that’s jest bein’ finished up is a warehouse. Never saw a bigger buildin’. Two hunderd foot long and sixty wide.” “’Tis kind of big,” says he, and began to squint at it. “Looks ’most done. Shinglin’ ’most finished.” “Uh-huh,” says I. “Come on,” says he, and his eyes began to kind of shine and his lips pressed together. “Where?” “Over there to the mill.” “What for?” “See the boss.” “Mr. Manning?” “If that’s his name.” “He’ll kick us out. That’s the kind he is. Talks loud and bosses things, and hain’t got a mite of patience with anybody.” “We kin outrun him,” says Catty, and he grinned kind of mischievous. “Any man kin kick me that kin catch me. Come on if you hain’t scairt.” “Guess I dast go where you dast,” says I, and I mogged right along with him. The office was in a little square building off to the side, and while we were going up to it I was looking around me careful to see what would be the best way to run when Mr. Manning started after us. I’d picked out just how I was going to dodge in among the lumber-piles by the time we got to the door. We went right in. First there was a kind of an outside office where there was a bookkeeper and a typewriter working, and back of that was Mr. Manning’s office with the door shut. Catty walked right up to the railing and says to the bookkeeper, who was Johnnie Hooper, and not very old and a lot dressy, with his hair plastered onto his head, “Is Mr. Manning in?” “Who wants to know?” says Johnnie, with the kind of a grin that makes you mad. “Somebody to see him on business,” says Catty. “What kind of business?” “Is he in?” says Catty. “He is, but you don’t think a couple o’ kids like you can bother him, do you? He’d throw you out by the seat of the pants.” “Hired to tell folks what he’d do?” says Catty. Johnnie kind of scowled and didn’t think of anything to say back. “We’re here on business,” says Catty, “and if you know what’s good for you you’ll tell Mr. Manning so. It’s for him to say whether he’ll see us, and not you.” “You skedaddle out of here,” says Johnnie, getting off his stool. Catty grinned at him, but it wasn’t a friendly grin. I got to know it after a while, and whenever he grinned like that I knew he was ready and willing to fight, and that he would fight until he couldn’t see or hear or stand. “Maybe you kin kick me out,” says he, “and maybe you can’t. You don’t look like much of a kicker. But I kin tell you that you’ll git mussed tryin’ and there’ll be a rumpus in this office that Mr. Manning will hear—and he’ll come bustin’ out to find out what’s the trouble. Then where’ll you be? Kicked out yourself. Jest come right on and try it.” “Git out!” says Johnnie, but he didn’t come any nearer. “Are you going to tell Mr. Manning I want to see him? “No. Git!”