Mr. Driscoll glared, his eyes clicked. Then he gave a great swallow. "I guess you're about right. But if I understand the situation, I guess there's a lot of men in your union that'd rather hold their jobs than stand up for what's right." Tom, in his turn, had his fires drawn. "And I guess you're about right, too," he had to admit. "I may be a coward," Mr. Driscoll went on, "but if a man puts a gun to my head and says he'll pull the trigger unless I do what he says, I've got to do it, that's all. And I rather guess you would, too. But let's pass this by. I've got a plan. Foley can make me put you off one job, but he can't make me fire you. Let's see; I'm paying you thirty a week, ain't I?" "That's it." "Well, I'm going to give you thirty-five a week and put you to work in the shop as a superintendent. Foley can't touch you there,--or me either. Isn't that all right?" Mr. Driscoll wore a look of half-hearted triumph. Tom had regarded Mr. Driscoll so long with dislike that even this proposal, apparently uttered in good faith, made him suspicious. He began to search for a hidden motive. "Well?" queried Mr. Driscoll impatiently. He could find no dishonest motive. "But if I took the job I'd have to go out of the union," he said finally. "It oughtn't break your heart to quit Foley's company." Tom walked to the window and looked meditatively into the street. Mr. Driscoll's offer was tempting. It was full of possibilities that appealed to his ambition. He was confident of his ability to fill this position, and was confident that he would develop capacity to fill higher positions. This chance would prove the first of a series of opportunities that would lead him higher and higher,--perhaps even to Mr. Driscoll's own desk. He knew he had it in him. And the comfort, even the little luxuries, the broader opportunities for self-development that would be his, all appealed to him. And he was aware of the joy this new career would give to Maggie. But to leave the union--to give up the fight---- He turned back to Mr. Driscoll. "I can't do it." "What!" cried the contractor in amazement. "I can't do it," Tom repeated. "Do you know what you're throwing away? If you turned out well, and I know you would, why there'd be no end of chances for advancement. I've got a lot of weak men on my pay-roll." "I understand the chance, Mr. Driscoll. But I can't take it. Do you know why Foley's got it in for me?" "He don't like you, I suppose." "Because he's found out, somehow, that I've begun a fight on him, and am going to try to put him out of business. If I take this job, I've got to drop the fight. And I'll never do that!" Tom was warming up again. "Do you know the sort Foley is? I suppose you know he's a grafter?" "Yes. So does my pocket-book."