But Mamise pleaded to be allowed to work at least till her own ship was finished. So Davidge yielded to quiet her. She put back into her overalls and wielded a monkey-wrench in the engine-room. She took flying trips on the lofty cranes. One afternoon when the whistle blew she remained aloft alone to revel in the wonder view of the world, the wide and gleaming river, the peaceful hills, the so-called handiwork of God, and everywhere the pitiful beauty of man's efforts to work out his destiny and enslave the forces. Human power was not the least of these forces. Ingenious men had learned how to use not only wind currents, waterfalls, and lightning and the heat stored up in coal, but to use also the power stored up in the muscles of their more slow-brained fellows. And these forces broke loose at times with the ruinous effect of tornadoes, floods, and thunderbolts. The laborers needed merciful and intelligent handling, and the better they were the better their work. It was hard to say what was heresy and what was wisdom, what was oppression and what was helpful discipline. Whichever way one turned, there was misunderstanding, protest, revolt. Mamise thought that everybody ought to be happy and love everybody else. She thought that it ought to be joy enough to go on working in that splendid shop and about the flock of ships on the ways. And yet people would insist on being miserable. She, the priestess of unalloyed rapture, also sighed. Hearing a step on the crane, she was startled. After all, she was only a woman, alone up here, and help could never reach her if any one threatened her. She looked over the edge. There came the man who most of all threatened her--Davidge. He endangered her future most of all, whether he married her or deserted her. He evidently had no intention of marrying her, for she had given him chances enough and hints enough. He had a telegram in his hand and apologized for following her. "I didn't know but it might be bad news." "There's nobody to send me bad news except you and Abbie." She opened the telegram. It was an invitation from Polly to come back to sanity and a big dance at the Hotel Washington. She smiled. "I wonder if I'll ever dance again." Davidge was tired from the climb. He dropped to the seat occupied by the chauffeur of the crane. He rose at once with an apology and offered his place to Mamise. She shook her head, then gave a start: "Great Heavens! that reminds me! That seat of yours I took on the train from New York. I've never paid for it." "Oh, for the Lord's sake--" "I'm going to pay it. That's where all the trouble started. How much was it?" "I don't remember." "About two dollars now." "Exactly one then." She drove her hand down into the pocket of her breeches and dragged up a fistful of small money. "To-day was pay-day. Here's your dollar." "Want a receipt?" "Sure, Mike. I couldn't trust you." An odd look crossed his face. He did not play easily, but he tried: