en, what's the use of talking about wiping? If I've put in ten
years learning the last kink there is in an engine, and have forgotten
more than the best man of the engine crews 'll know when he dies,
what's the reason I ain't competent to run one?"

Regan reached into his back pocket for his chewing, wriggled his head
till his teeth met in the plug, and tucked the tobacco back into his
pocket again.

"Beezer," said he slowly, spitting out an undesirable piece of stalk,
"did it ever strike you that there's a whole lot of blamed good horse
doctors that'd make damn poor jockeys--h'm?"

Beezer scowled deeply, and kicked at a piece of waste with the toe of
his boot.

"All I want is a chance," he growled shortly. "Give me a chance, and
I'll show you."

"You can have your chance," said Regan. "I've told you that."

"Yes," said Beezer bitterly. "It's a hell of a chance, ain't it? A
dollar-ten a day--_wiping_! I'd be willing to go on firing for a
spell."

"Wiping," said Regan with finality, as he turned away and started
toward the shops; "but you'd better chew it over again, Beezer, and
have a talk with your wife before you make up your mind."

Somebody chuckled behind Beezer--and Beezer whirled like a shot. The
only man in sight was Pudgy MacAllister. Pudgy's back was turned, and
he was leaning over the main-rod poking assiduously into the internals
of the 1016 with a long-spouted oil can; but Beezer caught the
suspicious rise and fall of the overall straps over the shoulders of
the fat man's jumper.

Beezer was only human. It got Beezer on the raw--which was already
pretty sore. The red flared into his face hard enough to make every
individual hair in his beard incandescent; he walked over to Pudgy,
yanked Pudgy out into the open, and shoved his face into the engineer's.

"What in the double-blanked, blankety-blanked blazes are you grinning
at?" he inquired earnestly.

"H'm?" said Pudgy.

"Yes--_h'm_!" said Beezer eloquently. "That's what I'm asking you."

Whether Pudgy MacAllister was just plain lion-hearted, or a rotten bad
judge of human nature isn't down on the minutes--all that shows is that
he was one or the other. With some labor and exaggerated patience, he
tugged a paper-covered pamphlet out of his pocket from under his
jumper. It was the book of rules Beezer had "borrowed" some time
before.

"Mrs. Beezer," said Pudgy blandly, "was over visiting the missus this
morning, and she brought