From the office Holman walked up the yard to the spur tracks at the end of the shops where three or four engines were waiting their turn for an empty pit. He glanced at their numbers, comparing them with the papers he held in his hand, then turned and walked back, pausing on the way to inspect an engine, bright and clean as fresh paint and gold leaf would make her, that had been hauled out of the shops that morning. He passed in through the upper doors to the fitting-shop. Already another engine had been shunted in to replace the one that had gone out. Her guard-plates, links, cross-heads, main and connecting rods were lying on the floor beside her, and the labor gang were jacking and blocking her up preparatory to running the wheels out from underneath her. There was a trace of heightened color in Holman’s face as he turned to look for Rafferty. The boss fitter was in his usual place. Down the shop, hands dug deep in his trousers pockets, legs spread wide apart, he swung slowly round and round on the little iron turntable that intersected the handcar tracks where they branched out in all directions through the shops. As Holman approached he stopped the motion indolently by allowing the toe of his boot to trail along the floor around the table. Holman’s manner was quiet and his voice was soft, almost deferential, as he spoke: “I see you have 483 finished, Mr. Rafferty.” Rafferty looked down from his superior two inches and said: “Yis.” “And,” continued Holman, “you’ve run in 840 in her place?’ “Yis,” said Rafferty again, this time even more indifferently than before. “Well, now, really, Mr. Rafferty, I’d like to know why you did it? You know I told you yesterday to be particular to take 522 next.” Holman’s tones were more nearly those of apology than of expostulation. For answer Rafferty gave a little shove with his foot and the turntable began to revolve slowly. During the circuit Rafferty coolly gave some directions to the men nearest him, and then as he once more came round facing Holman he stopped. “Fwhat was ut you was sayin’, Mr. Holman?” he drawled. “This is the biggest division on the system, isn’t it?” Holman asked inconsequently. “Eh?” demanded Rafferty. “Longest division--most mileage--covers quite a stretch of country,” Holman amplified. “Oh!” returned the other with a grin. “Well, you’ll be thinkin’ so if you ever sthay long enough to git acquainted wid ut.” “Perhaps that’s the reason I am beginning to feel cramped--I’ve only been here a month, you know,” Holman smiled. “Fwhat d’ye mean?” “Why, curiously, it doesn’t seem big enough or wide enough or long enough for even _two_ men.” Holman purred his words in soft, mild accents, and Rafferty, understanding, sneered in quick retort: “Was you thinkin’ av lavin’, Mr. Holman?”