"And why should she weep for any one else?" asked the old engineer. "And why shouldn't she weep for you, Dannie? wandering up and down the earth, homeless and alone. Why I remember now. She would cry in her coffee at the mention of your name. And Dan, she's growin' prettier every day, and she's that gentle and--" Just then the wild scream of a yard engine close behind them caused them to step aside. "Wope!" cried a switchman, bang bang went the bell--"Look out there," yelled Patsy, for as the two pedestrians looked back they saw a drunken man reel out from among the cars. The driver of the switch-engine saw the man as the engine struck him, and, reversing, came to a quick stop and leaped to the ground. The man lay with his lower limbs beneath the machine, and a blind driver (those broad wheels that have no flanges) resting on the pit of his stomach, holding him to the rail. The young engineer, having taken in the situation, leaped upon his engine, and was about to back off when Moran signalled him to stand still. "Don't move," said the old engineer, "he may want to say a word before he dies, and if you move that wheel he will be dead." "Why, hello Greene, old hoss; is this you?" asked Moran, lifting the head of the unfortunate man and pushing the unkept hair back from his forehead. Greene opened his eyes slowly, looked at his questioner, glanced all about and, as Moran lifted his head, gazed at the great wheel that had almost cut his body into two pieces. He was perfectly sober now, and asked why they didn't back up and look him over. "We shall presently," said Moran, "only we were afraid we might hurt you. You are not in any pain now, are you?" "No," said the man, "I don't know when I've felt more comfortable; but for all that I guess I'm clean cut in two, ain't I, Dan?" "Oh no, not so bad as that." "Oh yes, I guess there's no use holdin' out on me. Is the foreman here?" "Yes, here I am, Billy." "Billy!" said Greene, "now wouldn't that drive you to cigarettes? Billy!--why don't you call me drunken Bill? I'm used to that." "Well, what is it, old man?" asked the foreman, bending down. "You know this man? This is Dan Moran, the dynamiter." And the foreman of the round-house, recognizing the old engineer for the first time, held out his hand, partly to show to Moran and others that the strike was off, and partly to please the dying man. "That's right," said Greene to the foreman, "it'll be good for you to touch an honest hand." By this time a great crowd had gathered about the engine. Some police officers pushed in and ordered the engineer to "back away." "An' what's it _to_ ye?" asked Greene with contempt, for he hated the very buttons of a policeman. "It's no funeral uf yours. Ye won't grudge me a few moments with me friend, will ye? Move on ye tarrier." The big policeman glanced about and recognizing the foreman asked why the devil he didn't "git th' felly out?"