Maidment and Hurst’s gate was shut fast; he was far too soon. He tried the little door that was cut in the great gate, but that was locked. He wondered if he ought to knock; and did venture on a faint tap of the knuckles. But he might as well have tapped the brick wall. Moreover, a passing apprentice observed the act, and guffawed aloud. “Try down the airey, mate,” was his advice. So Johnny stood and waited, keeping the new tin can where the gaslight over the gate should not betray its unsmoked brightness, and trying to look as much like an old hand as possible. But the passing men grinned at each other, jerking their heads toward him, and Johnny felt that somehow he was known for a greenhorn. The apprentices, immeasurable weeks ahead of him in experience, flung ironic advice and congratulation. “Hooray! Extry quarter for you, mate!” two or three said; one earnestly advising him to “chalk it on the gaffer’s ’at, so’s ’e won’t forget.” And still another shouted in tones of extravagant indignation:—“What? On’y jes’ come? They bin a-waitin’ for ye ever since the pubs shut!” At length the timekeeper came, sour and grey, and tugged at a vertical iron bell-handle which Johnny had not perceived. The bell brought the night-watchman, with a lantern and a clank of keys, and the timekeeper stepped through the little door with a growl in acknowledgment. He left the door ajar, and Johnny, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped in after him. “Mr. Cottam told me to come this morning, sir,” he said, before the timekeeper had quite disappeared into his box. “My name’s May.” The timekeeper turned and growled again, that being his usual manner of conversation. “Awright,” he continued. “You wait there till ’e comes in then.” And it was many months ere Johnny next heard him say so much at once. The timekeeper began hanging round metal tickets on a great board studded with hooks, a ticket to each hook, in numbered order. Presently a man came in at the door, selected a ticket from the board, and dropped it through a slot into what seemed to be a big money-box. Then three came together, and each did the same. Then there came a stream of men and boys, and the board grew barer of tickets and barer. In the midst came Mr. Cottam, suddenly appearing within the impossibly small wicket as by a conjuring trick. He tramped heavily straight ahead, apparently unconscious of Johnny. But as he came by he dropped his hand on the boy’s shoulder, and, gazing steadily ahead: “Well, me lad!” he roared, much as though addressing somebody at a window of the factory across the yard. “Good-morning, sir,” Johnny answered, walking at the foreman’s side by compulsion; for the hand, however friendly, was the heaviest and strongest he had ever felt. Mr. Cottam went several yards in silence, still gripping Johnny’s shoulder. Then he spoke again. “Mother all right?” he asked fiercely, still addressing the window. “Yes, sir, thank-you.”