One of the men with a vessel of white, heaving molten metal was trying to pass through the narrow aisle. Dick broke his sentence to rise in hasty avoidance, and his foot slipped in a puddle of oil on the floor. It was so brief in happening that only the workman concerned saw the accident. As Dick fell backward, Lestrange sprang forward and caught him, fairly snatching him from the greedy teeth. There was the rending of fabric, a gasping sob from Dick, and reeling from the recoil, Lestrange was sent staggering against a flying emery wheel next in line. The workman set down his burden with a recklessness endangering further trouble, active too late. "Mr. Lestrange!" he cried. But Lestrange had already recovered himself, his right arm crossed with a scorched and bleeding bar where it had touched the glittering wheel, and the two young men were standing opposite each other in safety. "You are not hurt?" was the first question. "_I?_ I ought to be, but I'm not. Come to a surgeon, Lestrange--Oh, you told me not to sit there!" Lestrange glanced down at the surface-wound, then quickly back at the two pallid faces. "Go on to your work, Peters," he directed. "I'm all right." And as the man slowly obeyed, "_Now_ will you take my advice and come to the race with me, Ffrench?" "Race! You'd race with that arm?" "Yes. Are you coming with me?" Shaken and tremulous, Dick passed a damp hand across his forehead. "I think you're mad to stand talking here. Come to the office, for heaven's sake. And, I'd be ground up there, if you hadn't caught me," he looked toward the jaws sullenly shredding and reshredding a strip of cloth from his sleeve. "I'll do anything you want." "Will you?" Lestrange flashed quickly. He flung back his head with the resolute setting of expression the other knew so well, his eyes brilliant with a resolve that took no heed of physical discomfort. "Then give me your word that you'll stick to your work here. That is my fear; that the change in you is just a mood you'll tire of some day. I want you to stand up to your work and not drop out disqualified." "I will," said Dick, subdued and earnest. "I couldn't help doing it--your arm--" Lestrange impatiently dragged out his handkerchief and wound it around the cut. "Go on." "I can't help keeping on; I couldn't go back now. You've got me awake. No one else ever tried, and I was having a good time. It began with liking you and thinking of all you did, and feeling funny alongside of you." He paused, struggling with Anglo-Saxon shyness. "I'm awfully fond of you, old fellow." The other's gray eyes warmed and cleared. Smiling, he held out his left hand. "It's mutual," he assured. "It isn't playing the game to trap you while you are upset like this. But I don't believe you'll be sorry. Come find some one to tie this up for me; I can't have it stiff to-morrow."