floor on his knees by
one of the benches--but he wasn't looking for any washers. He was
praying."

With a sharp exclamation, Carleton pushed back his chair, and,
standing, leaned over the desk toward Regan.

Regan swallowed a lump in his throat--and shook his head.

"He didn't see me," he said brokenly, "he didn't know I was there. He
was praying aloud. I heard what he said. It's been ringing in my head
all night, word for word, while I was trying to play with those"--he
jerked his hand toward the scattered cards on the desk between them.
"I can hear him saying it now. It's the queerest prayer I ever heard;
and I guess he prayed the way he lived--as though he was kind of
intimate with God."

"Yes?" prompted Carleton softly, as Regan paused.

Regan turned his head away as his eyes filled suddenly--and his voice
was choked.

"What he said was this, just as though he was talking to you or me:
'You know how it is, God. I wouldn't take that way myself unless You
fixed it up for me, because it wouldn't be right unless You did it.
But I hope, God, You'll think that's the best way out of it. You see,
there ain't nothing left as it is, but if we fixed it that way there'd
be the fraternal insurance to take care of the missus, and she wouldn't
never know. And then, You see, God, I guess my work is all done,
and--and I'd kind of like to quit while I was still on the pay
roll--I'd kind of like to finish that way, and to-night's the last
chance. You understand, God, don't You?'"

Regan's lips were quivering as he stopped.

There was silence for a moment, then Carleton looked up from the
blotter on his desk.

"Tommy," he said in his big, quiet way, as his hand touched Regan's
sleeve, "tell me why you didn't stop him, then, from going out
to-night?"

Regan didn't answer at once. He went over to the window and stared out
at the twinkling switch lights in the yards below--he was still staring
out of the window as he spoke.

"He didn't put it up to me," said Regan. "He put it up to God."

VII

"THE DEVIL AND ALL HIS WORKS"

Maguire was a little, washed-out, kind of toil-bent hostler in the
roundhouse--and he married old. How old? Nobody knew--not even old
Bill himself--fifty something. Mrs. Maguire presented him with a son
in due course, and the son's name was Patrick Burke Maguire--but the
Hill Division, being both terse and graphic by nature and education,
called him "Noodles."

Noodles wasn't e