“I can’t, but I will.”

“As soon as he can arrange it, please.  I want to get started.”

“He’ll be there in half an hour.”

Mershon came, a gray, beefy, heavy-faced man—­with clear, keen, seeing eyes.

“Mr. Lightener has loaned you to me, Mr. Mershon.  It was a tremendous favor, for I know what you can do.”

Mershon nodded.  He was a man who treasured up words.  He must have had a great store of them laid by, for in his fifty years he had used up surprisingly few.

“This is what I want,” Bonbright said.  “First, I want a plant designed with a capacity of twenty thousand Lightener engines.  You designed Lightener’s engine plant—­so you’re about the one man to give me one that will turn out more engines with less labor and at lower cost than his.  That’s what I want.”

Mershon’s eyes lighted.  “It will cost money,” he said.

“I’ll find the money; you give me the plant,” Bonbright said.  “And second, I want a survey made of this present plant.  I know a lot of it is junk, but I’m not competent to say how much.  You will know what to do.  If I have to junk the whole outfit I’ll do it.  I don’t want to waste money, but I want these mills to be the equal of any mills in the country. ...  Not only in efficiency, but as a place to work.  I want them safe.  You will understand.  I want the men considered.  Give them light and air.  Wait till you see our wash rooms!” He shrugged his shoulders.  “It isn’t enough to have the best machines,” he said.  “I want the men to be able to do the best that’s in them. ...  You understand?”

Mershon nodded.

“The next room is yours.”  Bonbright pointed toward his old office, the one it had been the family custom to close on the accession of the heir apparent, and never to reopen until a new heir was ready to take up his duties.  He felt a sort of pleasure in this profanation.  “You’ll find it large enough.  If you need more room, ask for it. ...  Get what assistants you need.”

“No more interruption of production than necessary,” said Mershon.

“Exactly. ...  And we need that new plant in a hurry.  I’ve taken a contract to make ten thousand engines for Mr. Lightener this year.”

It was that day that he called Rangar into the room.  Hangar had been uneasy, fearful, since his old employer had died.  He had been an important figure under the old order; a sort of shadow behind the throne.  He wondered what would happen to him now.  More especially if Bonbright had a notion of some of his duties under Bonbright’s father.  He was not kept in suspense.

“Mr. Rangar,” said Bonbright, “I have been looking through the files.  Some of your duties have become clear to me.  I was familiar with others. ...  Perhaps my father required a man like yourself.  I do not.  The old way of doing things here is gone, and you and I could not be happy together.  I shall direct the cashier to give you a check for six months’ salary...”