It was an oblong room in which reigned the din of typewriters. Over against the farther wall a dozen or more men were bending so intently over heavy, leather-bound ledgers that it seemed as if they must have sat in that exact spot from the beginning of the world, adding, adding, adding! Vacantly the lad's eye wandered along to the space just opposite him where, framed in neat oak, hung a printed notice headed: "Labor Laws of the State of Massachusetts." For the want of a better amusement Peter sauntered over and began to read. The length of the working day, he gathered, was ten hours except for boys under sixteen, whom the law forbade working longer than eight hours. A smile passed over the lad's face. Eight hours was surely long enough--from eight until twelve, and from one until five. What if he had been sixteen instead of fifteen, and been forced to get to the tannery at seven o'clock in the morning and work until six at night! There must be boys who did. For the first time in his life Peter was thankful that he was no older. Just at this moment he saw the bookkeeper returning. "If you please, Strong," said the older man with a deference that contrasted markedly with his former greeting, "will you step this way? Mr. Tyler is expecting you." Peter followed through the central aisle of the long room and entered the small, glass-enclosed space where a man surrounded by a chaos of papers and letters was sitting at a roll-top desk. "This, Mr. Tyler, is young Strong," announced the bookkeeper to the superintendent. "I am glad to see you, Strong." So sharply did his eye sweep over Peter that the boy trembled lest this oracle suddenly announce: "I know all about you. Your name is not Strong at all. You are Peter Coddington, and you have been sent to the mill because you flunked your examinations." Nothing of the sort happened, however. The superintendent merely remarked with a nod: "That will do, Carter. You may go." Peter heard the latch click as Mr. Carter went out. "Well, young man, so you want a job in the tannery?" were Mr. Tyler's next words. "Yes, sir." "Mr. Coddington telephoned me about you. He told me that you are entirely inexperienced and with no knowledge of the business. I should say the only thing for you to do is to begin at the very bottom of the ladder, if you want to make anything of yourself." "I suppose so, sir." The superintendent tilted back in his chair and carefully studied the lad before him. "You look able-bodied." "Oh, yes, sir." "Not afraid of work?" Peter hesitated. "I don't mind working if I like what I'm doing, sir," he replied with naive truthfulness. It was obvious that the honest reply pleased Mr. Tyler. "I guess that is the way with many of us, Strong," he laughed. "But if you are to have a position here you will have to stick at your work whether you like it or not." "I mean to try to." "That's the proper spirit. You are not afraid of getting your hands dirty?"