Gaffney arrived presently, a bit embarrassed. “Sit down a moment,” said Mr. McCarthy. “I said when you came here that I would keep an eye on you, and I've done it. I'm satisfied that you're too talented for your position. I'm going to send you to the shop in Troy, where our machines are made, and keep you there until you've learned all about them. Then I'll try you as superintendent, at a larger salary, and a 5-per-cent, interest in the profits. If you 'tend to business you'll make a fortune.” Gaffney was dumb with surprise. His face turned red; his hands trembled; he voiced his gratitude in a stammered sentence. “I'm glad to do it,” said McCarthy. “Go back to your work, and be ready to leave Monday morning.” Gaffney retired, and my friend sent for another man. “This is a different kind of chap,” said the gentleman. “He's a sore on the body of poor Sal, and we'll remove him by a gentle sort of surgery.” His name was Hinkley, and presently in he came. “Hinkley,” said my friend, “I'm going to promote you. To-morrow you may go to the plant at Amadam. You shall have a 3-per-cent, interest in the profits of that enterprise. Go ahead and make them as big as you can.” Hinkley returned to his bench in a grateful spirit, although a bit puzzled, as I saw by the look of his face. When we were alone, McCarthy turned with a smile and said: “You see, the plant at Amadam is a reformatory for the promoted. Of course, it doesn't make any money, and as soon as it begins to lose a hundred dollars a month I shall stop it, and they'll be out in the cold world. I'm fair with them; they have a chance to make some profit if they will and keep their jobs. It's their funeral, not mine. If any man improves there, and develops talent and good-will, I promote him back to the home shop. If any one is unmanageable, I promote him to the soap-grease department at Buffalo. There I have a hard boss, and the probationer will do one of two things--reform or resign. He either improves or discharges himself. I never discharge any one.” After a moment's pause, he went on: “Now we'll send for Mr. Horace Bulger and give him some work to do. He should be able to stop the strike now. We've done him a great favor.” The Honorable Bulger came soon, and promptly the hand-made gentleman gave him a word of advice. “You had better stop this trouble in my factory, if you can,” said he. “What trouble?” “The trouble you started some time ago; it's your trouble now. The men have decided to strike to-morrow. You'll have to make peace, or I'm defeated and you lose your money.” Mr. Bulger rose with a worried look. “Don't say a word to them,” he whispered; “let me do the talking.”