e pit
and wedged the turntable bearings with iron wedgings. Half an hour
later, when the night crew came to swing it for the 1016, blowing hard
from a full head of steam and ready to go out and couple on to No. 1
for the westbound run, they couldn't move it. It took them a few
minutes before they could find out what the matter was, and another few
to undo the matter when they did find out--and No. 1 went out five
minutes late.

Nobody asked who did it--it wasn't necessary. They just said
"Noodles," and waited to see what Noodles' godfather would do about it.

They did not have long to wait. The Limited five minutes late out of
division and the delay up to the motive-power department, which was
Regan's department, would have been enough to bring the offender,
whoever he might be, on the carpet with scant ceremony even if it had
been an _accident_. Regan was boiling mad.

Noodles didn't show up the next day. Deep in Noodles' consciousness
was a feeling that his nickel thriller and a certain spot he knew up
behind the butte, where many a pleasant afternoon had been passed when
he should have been at school, was more conducive to peace and
quietness than the center of railroad activities--also Noodles ached
bodily from his father's attentions.

Old Bill, too, kept conveniently out of sight down in a pit somewhere
every time the master mechanic showed his nose inside the roundhouse
during the morning--but by afternoon, counting the edge of Regan's
wrath to have worn smooth, he followed Regan out over the turntable
after one of the master mechanic's visits.

"Regan," he blurted out anxiously, "about the bhoy, now."

"Well?" snapped Regan, whirling about.

The monosyllable was cold enough in its uncompromise to stagger the
little hostler, and drive all thoughts of the carefully rehearsed
oration he had prepared from his head. He scratched aimlessly at the
half circle of gray billy-goat beard under his chin, and blinked
helplessly at the master mechanic. Noodles lacked much, and in Noodles
was much to be desired perhaps--but Noodles, for all that, had his
place in the Irish heart that beat under the greasy jumper.

"He's the only wan we've got, Regan," stammered the harassed roundhouse
man appealingly.

"It's a wonder, then, you've not holes in the knees of your overalls
giving thanks for it," declared Regan grimly. "That's enough,
Bill--and we've had enough of Noodles. Keep him away from here."

"Ah, sur