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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
catalog for the best part of a solitary hour.
Suddenly, sharp and clear, the usually good-natured voice of Jim Neilan came swirling up to him in a rush of words. ''Remember, Mr. Mclnarrie,'' they formed, "that every word that Archie Lloyd has said is true. We'll forget the crazy
sibility. And now will you take them, or leave them in disregard of life?"
There came a silence as heavy as pent breathing; then Wallace recognized the bull-like voice of his father. ' ' Meester Neilan, report to the mill at once. As for ye, Archie Lloyd, I've an opeenion to clap ye into jyle. The sheriff's men will lead ye down the
NEILAN PLANS TO IMPROVE THE MILL
condition of your looms and the lack of new devices that make them a Scotch joke, if there is such a thing. But it's the boilers, sir, the boilers that threaten the life of every lad and lass, and the old weavers, too, in your employ." The words cut off, and the violent crinkling of paper took their place. ' ' Here are the plans of a new boiler-house, with a set of modern boilers, and cylinder heads that dont fly off like corks. I had them estimated on my own respon
hill" — his voice rose lo an obstinate scream — "and I will na give twa thoughts to the twaddle of your lying tongue."
There followed the gruff commands of the sheriff's men, the closing of a door, the scuffling of retreating feet on the gravel, and Mclnarrie entered the library to face his son.
"Like as not, Wallace," he questioned, with a shade of anxiety, "ye have heard what that riffraff has put to me?"