They walked on, and entered the factory. “This ’ere,” said Mr. Cottam, turning on Johnny at last and glaring at him sternly: “this ’ere’s the big shop. ’Eavy work. There’s a big cylinder for the noo Red Star boat.” He led his prisoner through the big shop, this way and that among the great lathes and planers, lit by gas from the rafters; and up a staircase to another workshop. “’Ere we are,” said Mr. Cottam, releasing Johnny’s shoulder at last. “Y’ain’t a fool, are ye? Know what a lathe is, doncher, an’ beltin’, an’ shaftin’? Awright. Needn’t do nothin’ ’fore breakfast. Look about an’ see things, an’ don’t get in mischief. I got me eye on ye.” The foreman left him, and began to walk along the lines of machines; and the nearest apprentice grinned at Johnny, and winked. Johnny looked about, as the foreman had advised. This place, where he was to learn to make engines, and where he was to work day by day till he was twenty-one, and a man, was a vast room with skylights in the roof: though this latter circumstance he did not notice till after breakfast, when the gas was turned off, and daylight penetrated from above. A confusion of heavy raftering stretched below the roof, carrying belted shafting everywhere; and every man bent over his machine or his bench, for Cottam was a sharp gaffer. Johnny watched the leading hand scribing curves on metal along lines already set out by punctured dots. “Lining off,” said the leading hand, seeing the boy’s interest. And then, leaning over to speak, because of the workshop din: “Centre-dabs,” he added, pointing to the dots. _That_, at least, Johnny resolved not to forget: lining off and centre-dabs. For some reason—perhaps the usual reason, perhaps another—three or four of the men were “losing a quarter” that Monday morning, and some of them were men with whom young apprentices had been working. Consequently, Cottam, in addition to his general supervision, had to keep particular watch on these mentorless lads, and Johnny learned a little from the gaffer’s remarks. “Well, wotjer doin’ with that file?” he would ask of one. “You ain’t a-playin’ cat’s cradle now, me lad! Look ’ere, keep ’er level, like this! It’s a file, it ain’t a rockin’-’orse!” Or he would come behind another who was chipping bye-metal, and using a hammer with more zeal than skill. He would watch for a moment, and then break out, “Well, you are fond o’ exercise, I must say! Good job you’re strong enough to stand it. _I_ ain’t. My constitootion won’t allow me to ’old a ’ammer like this ’ere.” This with a burlesque of the lad’s stiff grasp and whole-arm action. “It ’ud knock me up. Bein’ a more delicate sort o’ person” (his arm was near as thick as the boy’s waist) “I ’old a ’ammer like this—see!” And he took the shaft end loosely in his fingers and hammered steadily and firmly from the wrist. Johnny saw that and remembered.