"A _steady_ job, is it?" said Regan softly. "I've been thinking so hard daytimes trying to place you in a railroad job and still keep railroading safe out in this part of the world that I've got to dreaming about it at nights. Last night I dreamt I was in a foundry and there was an enormous vat of red, bubbling, liquid iron they'd just drawn off the furnace, and you came down from the ceiling on a spider web and hung over it. And then I woke up, and I was covered with cold sweat--for fear the web wouldn't break." "Regan," said Sammy Durgan, blinking fast, "you don't know a man when you see one. You're where you are because you've had the chance to get there. Mind that! I've never had a chance. But it'll come, Regan. And the day'll come, Regan, when you'll be down on your knees begging me to take what I'm asking for now, a steady job on your blessed railroad." "Mabbe," said Regan, chewing absently on his blackstrap; and then, as a sort of afterthought: "What kind of a job?" "A steady one," said Sammy Durgan doggedly. "I dunno just what, but----" "H'm!" said Regan solicitously. "Well, don't make up your mind in a hurry, Durgan--I don't want to press you. When you've had a chance to look around a little more, mabbe you'll be able to decide better--what? Get out!" Sammy Durgan backed to the door. There he paused, blinking fast again: "Some day I'll show you, Regan, you and all the rest of 'em, and----" "Get out!" said the little master mechanic peremptorily. And Sammy Durgan got out. He was always getting out. That was his forte. When he got in, it was only to get out. "Some day," said Sammy Durgan--and the Hill Division stuck its tongue in its cheek. But Sammy Durgan had his answer to the blunt refusal that invariably greeted his modest request for a fresh job.