e little hostler's body stiffened, the watery-blue eyes lifted and
held steadily on the master mechanic, and for the first time in his
lowly life he raised a hand to his superior--Maguire pointed a
forefinger, that shook a little, at Regan.

"'Tis blasphymus yez are, Regan!" he said in a thin voice. "An' 'tis
no blasphymay I mean, God forbid, fwhen I say yez'll be damned if yez
don't. Before a priest, Regan, an' in the church av God, Regan, yez
swore fwhat yez swore--an' 'tis the wrath av God, Regan, yez'll bring
down on your head. Mind that, Regan! Fire me, is ut?" The little
hostler's voice rose suddenly. "All these years I've worked well for
yez, Regan, but I'll work no more for a man as 'ud do a thing loike
thot--an' the missus ses the same. Poor we may be, but rayspect for
oursilves we have. Yez'll niver fire me, Regan--I fire mesilf. I'm
through this minute!"

Regan glared disdainfully.

"Have you been drinking, Maguire?" he inquired caustically.

Noodles' father did not answer. He brushed past the master mechanic,
walked through the big engine doors, and halted just outside on the
cinders.

"'Tis forsworn yez are, Regan," he said heavily. "Yez may make light
av ut now, but the day'll come, Regan, fwhen yez'll find out 'tis no
light matter. 'Tis the wrath av God, Regan, 'll pay yez for ut, yez
can mark my words."

Regan stared after the old man, his eyes puckered, his face a little
red; stared after the bent form in the old worn overalls as it picked
its way across the tracks--and gave vent to his feelings by
expectorating a goodly stream of blackstrap juice savagely into the
engine pit at his side. This did not help very much, and for the rest
of the morning, while he inwardly anathematized Noodles, Noodles'
father and the whole Noodles family collectively, he made things both
uncomfortable and lively for those who were unfortunate enough to be
within reach of his displeasure.

"The wrath of God!" communed Regan angrily. "I always said Noodles
took after his father, both by disposition and looks! It'll be a long
time before the old man gets another job--a long time."

And therein Regan was right. It _was_ a long time--quite a long
time--measured by the elasticity of the boiler-washer's purse, which
wasn't very elastic on the savings from a dollar-sixty a day.

Old Bill Maguire, perhaps, was the only one who hadn't got quite the
proper angle on the "rights" he carried--which were worse t