“Good lads, all,” admitted Red. “What they don’t know about engines scarcely needs to be known, but it don’t matter what you do, David, you have got to put something beside knowledge in your work. It’s like those old fellas who used to put human blood in their cauldrons of metal when they made their church bells. They thought it made the bells sound sweeter. And so it did, so long as they thought so. You can’t say your engine is a fine old piece of bits and parts. You’ve got to love it. You remember last summer, when we flew east? I ran over to Providence to see my brother. Well, one night I wandered into the engine room at Brown & Sharpe’s, and the chief engineer showed me his engines. Gosh! there were tunnels full of them. And he went along with an oil can and a bit of waste, rubbin’ a bit here and a bit there, where God knows it didn’t need it, pretending to oil; just loving them.” He jumped up. “Honest, Dave, you’ve no heart! Come on! I’ve just got to have that sody—or perhaps I didn’t mention it before?” He took a step around the aged car, and stood staring. “Come here!” he said. “See Mr. Hammond over there? Do you see who is with him? Or is he, maybe, all alone?” David looked. “Don’t know the chap with him,” he decided. “Look again,” begged Red. “Don’t you know that strut, and those skinny legs, and that face? Think, man, think!” “Never saw him,” declared David. “Never? Well, listen here; may the Saints lead him off this lot, immediate! If they don’t, there’s cloud banks and rain and hail ahead for you and me. That’s Cram!” “So it is!” said David. “Well, what of it? He has no grudge against us.” “Hasn’t he, then? Didn’t you pass your exams, three years ago, and didn’t he fail? Watch out, me lad! He hasn’t changed his spots in three years. I know him, and all his breed.” “Don’t be so suspicious,” said David, watching the trim, thin figure slowly approaching. “Honestly, Red, why do you let that man get your goat? You never act like that with anybody else, no matter what they do.” Red shrugged. “Dunno!” he said. “My brother holds that every man has his own particular devil to torture and tantalize him. I feel shame, Davie, but Walter Cram seems to be my own little devil. I have got to have two sodies, now. I’m that upset.” Cram, for it was he, glanced idly at the passing roadster but did not recognize the occupants. The years had made little outward change in his appearance. He was taller, still thin, and moved with nervous alertness. He wore glasses, and they disguised the shadows under his eyes; violet shadows, that hinted of escapades that he would not care to publish. For Wally Cram, the man, was still as devious as Wally, the boy. Strangely enough, the one fever that burned in his blood, his one dream, his sole ambition, was based on an overwhelming vanity.