"I'm sorry for this, Bradley," he said. "You're the last man I expected it from. You know the rules. You've fired your last run on this road. You're out." But Regan might have been making some comment on the weather for all the concern it appeared to give Bradley. He stood leaning against the tender, snapping his fingers in his queer way, silent, hard-faced, his eyes far away from his immediate surroundings. Smithers, a wiper or two, Reddy MacQuigan amongst them, clustered around him after Regan had gone; but Bradley paid no attention to them, answered none of their questions or comments; and after a little while pushed himself through them and went out of the roundhouse. Bradley didn't go home that day; but Reddy MacQuigan did--at the noon hour. That's how Mrs. MacQuigan got it. Mrs. MacQuigan did not wait to wash up the dishes. She put on the little old-fashioned poke bonnet that she had worn for as many seasons as Big Cloud could remember, and started out to find Regan. She ran the master mechanic to earth on the station platform, and opened up on him, fluttering, anxious, and distressed. "Sure, Regan," she faltered, "you did not mean it when you fired Martin this morning--not for good." Regan pulled at his mustache and looked at her--and shook his head at her reprovingly. "I meant it, Mrs. MacQuigan," he said kindly. "You must know that. It will do neither of us any good to talk about it. I wouldn't have let him out if I could have helped it." "Then listen here, Regan," she pleaded. "Listen to the why of it, that 'tis only me who knows." And Regan listened--and the story lost nothing in the telling because the faded eyes were wet, and the wrinkled lips quivered sometimes, and would not form the words. At the end, big-hearted Regan reached into his back pocket for his plug, met his teeth in it, wrenched a piece away without looking at her, and cleared his throat--but he still shook his head. "It's no use you talking, Mrs. MacQuigan," he said gruffly, to hide his emotion. "I'd fire any man on earth, 'tis no matter the who or why, for drinking in the cab on a run." "But, Regan," she begged, catching at his arm, "he'll be leaving Big Cloud with his job gone." "And what then?" said Regan. "Mabbe 'twould be the best thing--h'm?" "Ah, Regan," she said, and her voice caught a little, "sure, 'twould be the end of Martin, don't you see? 'Tis me that knows him, and 'twill not last long, the spell, only till the worst of it is over--Martin is too fine for that, Regan. If I can keep him by me, Regan, d'ye mind? If he goes away where there's nobody to give him a thought he'll--he'll--ah, Regan, faith, Regan, 'tis a lot you've thought of Martin Bradley the same as me." Regan examined a crack in the planking of the station platform minutely, while Mrs. MacQuigan held tenaciously to his coat sleeve. "I dunno," said Regan heavily. "I dunno. Mabbe I'll----" "Ah, Regan!" she cried happily. "I knew 'twas----"