“Yes,” said Shanley shortly. No long story, no tale of what he’d done, no anything--just “Yes,” and that was what caught Carleton. “What can you do?” demanded the super. “Anything. I’m not fussy,” replied Chanley. “H’m!” said Carleton. “You don’t look it.” And he favored Shanley with another prolonged stare. Shanley, at first uncomfortable, shifted nervously from one foot to the other; then, as the stare continued, he began to get irritated. “Look here,” he flung out suddenly. “I ain’t on exhibition. I come for a job. I ain’t got any letters of recommendation from pastors of churches in the East. I ain’t got anything. My name’s Shanley, an’ I haven’t even got anything to prove _that_.” “You’ve got your nerve,” said Carleton, leaning back in his swivel chair and tucking a thumb in the armhole of his vest. “Ever worked on a railroad?” “No,” answered Shanley, a little less assertively, as he saw his chances of a job vanishing into thin air, and already regretting his hasty speech--a few odd nickels wasn’t a very big stake for a man starting out in a new country, and that represented the sum total of Shanley’s worldly wealth. “No, I never worked on a railroad.” “H’m,” continued Carleton. “Well, my friend, you can report to the trainmaster in the morning and tell him I said to put you on breaking. Get out!” It came so suddenly and unexpectedly that it took Shanley’s breath. Carleton’s ways were not Shanley’s ways, or ways that Shanley by any peradventure had been accustomed to. A moment before he wouldn’t have exchanged one of his nickels for his chances of a job, therefore his reply resolved itself into a sheepish grin; moreover--but of this hereafter--Shanley back East was decidedly more in the habit of having his applications refused with scant ceremony than he was to receiving favorable consideration, which was another reason for his failure to rise to the occasion with appropriate words of thanks. Incidentally, Shanley, like a select few of his fellow creatures, had his failings; concretely, his particular strayings from the straight and narrow way, not having been hidden under a bushel, were responsible, with the advice and assistance of a distant relative or two--advice being always cheap, and assistance, in this case, a marked-down bargain--for his migration to the West, as far West as the funds in hand would take him--Bubble Creek, B. C, the distant relatives saw to that. They bought the ticket. Shanley, still smiling sheepishly and in obedience to the super’s instruction to “get out,” was halfway to the door when Carleton halted him. “Shanley!” “Yes, sir?” said Shanley, finding his voice and swinging around. “Got any money?” Shanley’s hand mechanically dove through the overalls and rummaged in the pocket of his torn and ribboned trousers--the pocket had not been spared--the nickels, every last one of them, were gone. The look on his face evidently needed no interpretation. Carleton was holding out two bills--two tens.