There must be some mistake. Tolman couldn't have seen the storm coming. Breaking into a run Peter dashed in at the factory gate and raced up two stairs at a time to the office. Tolman was nowhere to be seen. The room was empty! Aghast, the boy glanced about. Every second was precious. What should he do? He thought a moment of his father and what the loss would mean to the company. Then, without further hesitation, he touched the bell that gave to the engineer the signal for the blowing of the factory whistle. It seemed as if the interval of silence in which Peter waited, listening only to the beating of his own heart, was endless. Then the well-known belch from the great chimney told him that his warning was being carried to every corner of the building. From the window he could see the men, hatless and alert, pouring out into the yard. Eager to join in the work he rushed down-stairs and was soon in the thick of the excitement. Although the sun was still unclouded no one questioned the wisdom of the order. In and out toiled the men and the stock was very nearly all within doors when Mr. Tolman strode into the yard. His face was flushed with rage. "Who gave that signal?" he bawled when he came near enough to be heard. Every one stopped. Immovable with surprise the men waited, the great frames of wet leather suspended in their hands. Peter Strong stepped forward. "I did, Mr. Tolman," he answered quietly. "How dare you touch that bell! I'll teach you, young man, that we have no practical jokes here." "It isn't a joke," Peter said. "I tried to find you and tell you that a storm was coming. When I couldn't, I gave the signal myself." "Who's running this factory, Strong--you or I? Tell me that." "You wouldn't want the stock ruined, Mr. Tolman." "That's my affair. Storm! There isn't going to be any storm! You're a meddlesome young scoundrel! Just because you have had some notice taken of you over at the other works you think you can come in here and run the whole place. Well, I'll show you that you can't manage my business." Fuming with anger Tolman sprang forward, his arm upraised. "Don't you touch that boy, Tolman!" cried a voice from the crowd. It was McCarthy. But the man was too enraged to heed the warning. With a quick thrust he struck out toward the lad. All the blood in Peter's body seemed to throb in his cheeks. Swiftly as a deer he leaped forward and, catching the upraised arm, he held it as if in a vise. "Let me go! Let me go, or it will be the worse for you," blustered Tolman, struggling vainly to wrench himself free from Peter's grasp. "I shall not let you go until you cool down a bit, Mr. Tolman," replied Peter firmly. "You had no right to meddle," snapped Tolman. "I had the same right that any man has to prevent the destruction of the company's property," was Peter's retort.