" said Regan; "that ain't the question. The question is, why would
you? H'm?"

"Because," Beezer answered promptly, "I like a snap as well as the next
man. It's a better job than the one I've got, better money, better
hours, easier all around, and one I can hold down with the best of
them."

Regan's eyebrows went up.

"Think so?" he remarked casually.

"I do," declared Beezer.

"Well, then," said Regan, "if you've thought it all out and made up
your mind, there's nothing I know of to stop you. Want to begin right
away?"

"I do," said Beezer again. It was coming easier than he had
expected--there was a jubilant trill in his voice.

"All right," said Regan. "I'll speak to Clarihue about it. You can
start in wiping in the morning."

"Wiping?" echoed Beezer faintly.

"Sure," said Regan. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it? Wiping--a
dollar-ten a day."

"Look here," said Beezer with a gulp; "I ain't joking about this."

"Well, then, what are you kicking about?" demanded Regan.

"About wiping and a dollar-ten," said Beezer. "What would I do with a
dollar-ten, me with a wife and three kids?"

"I don't know what you'd do with it," returned Regan. "What do you
expect?"

"I don't expect to start in wiping," said Beezer, beginning to get a
little hot.

"You've been here long enough to know the way up," said Regan.
"Wiping, firing--you take your turn. And your turn'll come for an
engine according to the way things are shaping up now in, say, about
fifteen years."

"Fifteen years!"

"Mabbe," grinned Regan. "I can't promise to kill off anybody to
accommodate you, can I?"

"And don't the ten years I've put in here count for anything?" queried
Beezer aggressively. "Why don't you start me in sweeping up the
round-house? Wiping! Wiping, my eye! What for? I know all about the
way up. That's all right for a man starting in green; but I ain't
green. Why, there ain't a year-old apprentice over in the shops there
that don't know more about an engine than any blooming engineer on the
division. You know that, Regan--you know it hanged well, don't you?"

"Well," admitted the master mechanic, "you're not far wrong at that,
Beezer."

"You bet, I'm not!" Beezer was emphatic. "How about me, then? Do I
know an engine, every last nut and bolt in her, or don't I?"

"You do," said Regan. "And if it's any satisfaction to you to know it,
I wouldn't ask for a better fitter any time than yourself."

"Th