There was no answer, but a sound among the branches indicated that the person up the tree was coming down. In another moment a man leaped to the ground lightly and stood beside Ned. The lad observed that the stranger was clean shaven, except for a small moustache which curled up at the ends slightly. "For all the world like a small edition of the Kaiser's," Ned described it afterward. "What are you doing here?" demanded the man, and his voice had in it the ring of authority. It was this very quality that made Ned bristle up and "get on his ear," as he said later. The young clerk did not object to being spoken to authoritatively by those who had the right, but from a stranger it was different. "I might ask you the same thing," retorted Ned. "I have as much right here as you, I fancy, and I can climb trees, too, but I don't care to have my fingers stepped on," and he looked at the scarified members of his left hand. "I beg your pardon. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't mean to. And of course this is a public place, in a way, and you have a right here. I was just climbing the tree to--er--to get a fishing pole!" Ned had all he could do to keep from laughing. The idea of getting a fishing pole from a gnarled and stunted pine struck him as being altogether novel and absurd. Yet it was not time to make fun of the man. The latter looked too serious for that. "Rather a good view to be had from up where you were, eh?" asked Ned suggestively. "A good view?" exclaimed the other. "I don't know what you mean!" "Oh, then you didn't see anything," Ned went on. "Perhaps it's just as well. Are you fond of fishing?" "Very. I have--But I forget, I do not know you nor you me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Walter Simpson, and I am here on a visit I just happened to walk out this way, and, seeing a small stream, thought I should like to fish. I usually carry lines and hooks, and all I needed was the pole. I was looking for it when I heard you, and--" "I felt you!" interrupted Ned, with a short laugh. He told his own name, but that was all, and seemed about to pass on. "Are there any locomotive shops around here?" asked Mr. Simpson. "Locomotive shops?" queried Ned. "None that I know of. Why?" "Well, I heard heavy machinery being used down there;" and he waved his hand toward Tom's shops, "and I thought--" "Oh, you mean Shopton!" exclaimed Ned. "That's the Swift plant. No, they don't make locomotives, though they could if they wanted to, for they turn out airships, submarines, tunnel diggers, and I don't know what." "Do they make munitions there--for the Allies?" asked Mr. Simpson, and there was an eager look on his face. "No, I don't believe so," Ned answered; "though, in fact, I don't know enough of the place to be in a position to give you any information about it," he told the man, not deeming it wise to go into particulars. Perhaps the man felt this, as he did not press for an answer.