e now, Regan," begged the little hostler piteously, "yez don't
mean ut. The bhoy's all right, Regan--'tis but spirit he has. Regan,
listen here now, I've larruped him good for fwhat he's done--an' 'twas
no more than a joke."

"A joke!" Regan choked; then brusquely: "That'll do, Bill. I've said
my last word, and I'm busy this afternoon. Noodles is out--for keeps."

"Ah, Regan, listen here"--Noodles' father caught the master mechanic's
arm, as the latter turned away. "Regan, sure, ut's the bhoy's
godfather yez are."

The fat little master mechanic's face went suddenly red--this was the
last straw--_Noodles' godfather_! Regan had been catching more
whispers than he had liked lately anent godfathers and godfathering.
His eyes puckered up and he wheeled on the boiler-washer--but the hot
words on the tip of his tongue died unborn. There was something in the
dejected droop of the other's figure, something in the blue eyes
growing watery with age that made him change his mind--old Bill wasn't
a young man. As far back as the big-hearted, good-natured master
mechanic could remember, he remembered old Bill--in the roundhouse.
Always the same job, day after day, year after year--boiler-washing,
tinkering around at odd jobs--not much good at anything else--church
every Sunday in shiny black coat, and peaked-faced Mrs. Maguire in the
same threadbare, shiny black dress--not that Regan ever went to church,
but he used to see them going there--church every Sunday, Maguire was
long on church, and week days just boiler-washing and tinkering around
at odd jobs--a dollar-sixty a day. Regan's pucker subsided, and he
reached out his hand to the boiler-washer's shoulder--and he grinned to
kind of take the sting out of his words.

"Well, Bill," he said, "as far as that goes, I renounce the honor."

"Raynownce ut!" The boiler-washer's eyes opened wide, and his face was
strained as though he had not heard aright. "Raynownce ut! Ut's an
Irish Protystant yez are, Regan, the same as me an' the missus, an' did
yez not say the words in the church!"

"I did," admitted Regan; "though I've forgotten what they were. It was
well enough, no doubt, for a kid in swaddling clothes--but it's some
time since then." Then, with finality: "Go back to your work, Bill--I
can't talk to you any more this afternoon."

"Raynownce ut!" The words reached Regan as he turned away and started
across the tracks toward the platform, and in their tones was