Foley left Mr. Baxter's office with the purpose of making straight for the office of Mr. Driscoll; but his inborn desire to play with the mouse caused him to change the direct road to an acute angle having at its apex the St. Etienne Hotel. He paused a moment to look up at the great black skeleton,--a lofty scaffolding that might have been erected for some mural painter ambitious to fresco his fame upon the sky. He saw the crane swing a beam to its place between two of the outside columns, and saw a man step upon its either end to bolt it to its place. Suddenly the crane jerked up the beam, and the men frantically threw their arms around it. As suddenly the crane lowered it. It struck upon the head of a column. Foley saw one man fly from the beam, catch hold of the end of a board that extended over the edge of the building, hang there; saw the beam, freed in some manner from the pulley hook, start down, ridden by one man; and then saw it come whirling downward alone. "Look out!" he shouted with all his lungs. Pedestrians rushed wildly from beneath the shed which extended, as a protection to them, over the sidewalk. Horses were jerked rearing backwards. The black beam crashed through the shed and through the pine sidewalk. Foley dashed inside and for the ladder. Up on the great scaffolding hands had seized the wrists of the pendant man and lifted him to safety. All were now leaning over the platform's edge, gazing far down at the ragged hole in the shed. "D'you see Pete?" Tom asked at large, in a strained voice. There were several noes. "That was certainly the last o' Pig Iron," muttered one of the gang. He was not disputed. "It wasn't my fault," said the signalman, as pale as paper. "I didn't give any wrong signals. Someone below must 'a' got caught in the rope." "I'm going down," said Tom; and started rapidly for the ladder's head--to be met with an ascending current of the sort of English story books ascribe to pirates. Pete's body followed the words so closely as to suggest a possible relation between the two. Tom worked Pete's hand. The men crowded up. "Now who the"--some pirate words--"done that?" Pete demanded. "It was all an accident," Tom explained. "But I might 'a' been kilt!" "Sure you might," agreed Johnson sympathetically. "How is it you weren't?" Tom asked. "The beam, in whirlin' over, swung the end I was on into the floor below. I grabbed a beam an' let it travel alone. That's all." Foley, breathing deeply from his rapid climb, emerged this instant from the flooring, and walked quickly to the group. "Anybody kilt?" he asked. The particulars of the accident were given him. "Well, boys, youse see what happens when youse got a foreman that ain't onto his job." Tom contemptuously turned his back and walked away. "I don't see why Driscoll don't fire him," growled Jake. "Who knows what'll happen!" Foley turned a twisted, knowing look about the group. "He's been talkin' a lot!"