Regan didn't say a word--nor was the smile he essayed an enthusiastic success. He read the "articles" over again word by word, pointing the lines with his pudgy forefinger. "Well," inquired Carleton, "what do you make of the running orders, Tommy?" "The devil and all his works!"--it came away from Regan now with a rush from his overburdened soul. "D'ye mean to say that--that"--Regan choked a little--"that I'm responsible for that brick-topped, monkey-faced kid?" "'Until he come of age,'" Carleton amplified pleasantly. Regan's Celtic temper rose. "I'll see him hung first!" he roared suddenly. "'Twas no more than to please Maguire that I stood up with the ugly imp! And mabbe I said what's here and mabbe I didn't, but in any event 'tis no more than a matter of form to be repeated parrot-fashion--and it means nothing." "Oh, well," said the super slyly, "if you feel that way about it, don't let it bother you." "It will not bother _me_!" said Regan defiantly, with a scowl. But it did. Regan slept that night with an army corps of red-headed, pocked, and freckled-faced little devils to plague his rest--and their name was Noodles. His thoughts were unpleasantly more on Noodles than his razor when he shaved the next morning, and the result was an unsightly gash across his chin--and when he made his first inspection of the roundhouse an hour later he was in a temper to be envied by no man. His irritability was not soothed by the sight of Maguire, who rose suddenly in front of him from an engine pit as he came in. "Regan," said the old fellow, "about the bhoy----" "Maguire," said Regan, in a low, fervent voice, "you bother me about that again and I'll fire you, too!" "Wait, Regan." There was a quaver in the little hostler's voice, and he appeared to stand his ground only by the aid of some previously arrived at, painful resolution that rose superior to his nervousness. "Wait, Regan--mabbe yez'll not have to. I talked ut over wid the missus last night. I've worked well for yez, Regan, all these years--all these years, Regan, I've worked for yez here in the roun'house--an' I've worked well, though ut's mesilf that ses ut." "That's nothing to do with it," snapped the master mechanic. "Mabbe ut has, an' mabbe ut hasn't." The watery-blue eyes sought the toes of their owner's grease-smeared, thickly-patched brogans. "I talked ut over wid the missus. Sure now, Regan, yez weren't thinkin' fwhat yez said, an' yez didn't mean fwhat yez said yisterday about raynowncin' the word ye'd passed. Yez'll take ut back, Regan?" "Take it back? I'll be damned if I do!" said Regan earnestly. The little hostler's body stiffened, the watery-blue eyes lifted and held steadily on the master mechanic, and for the first time in his lowly life he raised a hand to his superior--Maguire pointed a forefinger, that shook a little, at Regan.