“You hain’t? Now I made sure you was. Lookin’ at you, I jest naturally says to myself, here’s a feller lookin’ for a chair he kin set in without smashin’ it flat. That’s what I says. And, says I, no wooden chair made’ll hold him more’n a second. No, if you’re lookin’ for furniture to set in yourself, young feller, better go somewheres else.” He didn’t say it mean and disagreeable, but jolly and good-natured, and Mark didn’t get mad like he generally does when somebody twits him about being fat. He grinned back and says: “’Tain’t for me, mister. I hain’t usin’ furniture no m-m-more. I busted up so much the f-f-folks makes me set on the floor. There’s a dent in the f-floor where I gen’ally set, but Dad’s propped it up from underneath with a four-by-four.... Where’d you say that factory was?” “Hop on this street-car,” says the policeman, “and git off when it gits to the end of the line. You’ll see a whoppin’-big factory to your left.” “Yes,” says Mark. “Well, that hain’t it,” says the policeman, and grins again. “It’s the whoppin’-big one to your _right_.” “Much obleeged,” says Mark, and we went out and got on the car that was stopping. It took us maybe twenty minutes to get to the end of the line, and there we got off and looked around. Say, I never saw a factory the size of that one. It was big enough to hold the whole town of Wicksville, with some of the outlying districts thrown in. “Come on,” says Mark. “What we goin’ to do, now we’re here?” says I. “Hanged if I know,” says he, “but we’re goin’ to do somethin’.” We went to the office entrance, and there was a boy with a uniform on, and brass buttons, setting behind a desk and looking as important as a banty rooster. “What do you kids want?” says he, proud and haughty. “If you hain’t got business here, don’t be hangin’ around. We don’t want any kids loafin’ here.” “We come to see the m-m-monkeys,” says Mark, solemn and gentle. “Monkeys?” says the boy, and set up a laugh that was enough to make a saint mad. “There hain’t no monkeys. Think this is a circus? This is a chair-factory.” “Oh!” says Mark. “Chair-factory, eh? Well, I see how I come to m-m-make the m-mistake. It was lookin’ at you. I seen you all tricked up in that monkey suit and how much you l-looked like a monkey, and of course I f-figgered it was a monkey-show inside. When you come to speak I was sure of it, ’cause you talked jest like I imagine a trained monkey would talk—if its trainer had forgot to teach it manners.” The kid opened his mouth and panted once; then he shut his mouth careful, like he was afraid something would escape out of it, and he turned pink and red and let out a cough, and wiggled in his chair. Seemed like nothing occurred to him to say just at that minute. Mark did the saying. “We’re here on business,” says Mark, “and we want to see the man that owns this factory. We want to see him _quick_.” “He don’t want to hire any boys.”