CHAPTER VIII
THE OLD FACTORY
Ralph pulled loose from the grasp of the crabbed old capitalist, fairly indignant at the sudden onslaught.
"Don't you run! don't you run!" cried Farrington, swinging his cane threateningly.
"And don't you dare to strike!" warned Ralph, with a glitter in his eye. "I'd like to know, sir, what right you have stopping me on the public street in this manner?"
"It will be a warrant matter, if you aint careful!" retorted Farrington.
"I can't imagine how."
"Oh, can't you?" gibed Farrington, his plain animosity for Ralph showing in his malicious old face. "Well, I'll show you."
"I shall be glad to have you do so."
"Do you see that building?"
Farrington pointed across the baseball grounds at the edge of which they stood, indicating the old unused factory.
A light broke on Ralph's mind.
