“Sentiment is a blamed poor thing,” Cram declared; then, as if he had been too friendly, he rose abruptly, nodded and with a brief “See you later,” went off, carrying the newspaper, and David’s time-table as well. With a sigh of relief, David tackled his bacon and eggs, and a second man slid into the vacant seat. He looked directly at David with a pair of keen blue eyes, around which curled thick fair lashes. His shock of reddish-gold hair had been struggled with, but not subdued. His wide grin disclosed dazzling white teeth, whiter by contrast with the deep sunburn of his skin. “Mind if I sit here, Buddy?” he asked cheerily. “Not a bit,” said David, smiling in return. “Name’s Ryan,” said the blond husky. “Kenneth Ryan.” “I’m David Ellison,” said David, warming at once to the honest face and clear gaze. “Glad to meet you,” said Ryan, extending his hard and muscular hand. He studied the menu card anxiously. “These here mennoos!” he groaned. “What makes ’em have so many things to pick from? When I’m home I eat at delicatessens, or Childs’; but this! Damfino what to choose!” “I had oatmeal, and bacon and eggs, and cakes,” said David helpfully. “Bully!” said Ryan. He looked up at the waiter. “The same,” he said, waving a comprehensive hand toward David’s place. Then he settled his elbows on the table. “I seen you talking to Lord Cram,” he chuckled. “For a few minutes,” said David. “You know him?” “Yeah, but he doesn’t know me, now. I used to go to school with him when we were kids at St. Mary’s school in Lawton, Oklahoma. His folks couldn’t send him to public school on account of the Mex and Indians fightin’ him so because of the way he yelled. Beat any Indian war cry you ever heard. Then his grandfather struck oil on his worthless farm, and, lordymighty, the Crams just soared! No, he don’t know me. I’m just a mechanic. How far are you going, if you don’t mind me asking?” “Ayre, Ohio,” said David. “Ayre!” said Ryan. “Why, that’s where Cram is bound. That’s funny! By golly, I bet you are both set to try that examination at the Goodlow Plant.” “I am, at any rate,” said David. “I don’t know about Cram. He didn’t put out any information.” “Afraid you might cramp his style. That’s him all over. You might jump off the train ahead of him, and get the first taxi, and reach the plant first, and grab off a job as vice president.” “Are you going there, too?” asked David. “Yes, I am, as it happens, but not for that apprentice course, worse luck. I haven’t enough education. I want to land a job as mechanic. I just can’t keep away from the flying machines, Ellison, and,” he added, thrusting out a stubborn jaw, “if I get a chance down at Goodlow’s, I’ll bet my bottom dollar that I will make a swell mechanic. I’ve nothing at all above the collar,” he grinned, “but I own a damn good pair of hands.”