id not exist. The fact alone stood--as the fact. It was a
minute before Regan spoke, and then he didn't say much, just a word or
two without raising his voice, before he turned on his heel and walked
out of the roundhouse.

"I'm sorry for this, Bradley," he said. "You're the last man I
expected it from. You know the rules. You've fired your last run on
this road. You're out."

But Regan might have been making some comment on the weather for all
the concern it appeared to give Bradley. He stood leaning against the
tender, snapping his fingers in his queer way, silent, hard-faced, his
eyes far away from his immediate surroundings. Smithers, a wiper or
two, Reddy MacQuigan amongst them, clustered around him after Regan had
gone; but Bradley paid no attention to them, answered none of their
questions or comments; and after a little while pushed himself through
them and went out of the roundhouse.

Bradley didn't go home that day; but Reddy MacQuigan did--at the noon
hour. That's how Mrs. MacQuigan got it. Mrs. MacQuigan did not wait
to wash up the dishes. She put on the little old-fashioned poke bonnet
that she had worn for as many seasons as Big Cloud could remember, and
started out to find Regan. She ran the master mechanic to earth on the
station platform, and opened up on him, fluttering, anxious, and
distressed.

"Sure, Regan," she faltered, "you did not mean it when you fired Martin
this morning--not for good."

Regan pulled at his mustache and looked at her--and shook his head at
her reprovingly.

"I meant it, Mrs. MacQuigan," he said kindly. "You must know that. It
will do neither of us any good to talk about it. I wouldn't have let
him out if I could have helped it."

"Then listen here, Regan," she pleaded. "Listen to the why of it, that
'tis only me who knows."

And Regan listened--and the story lost nothing in the telling because
the faded eyes were wet, and the wrinkled lips quivered sometimes, and
would not form the words.

At the end, big-hearted Regan reached into his back pocket for his
plug, met his teeth in it, wrenched a piece away without looking at
her, and cleared his throat--but he still shook his head.

"It's no use you talking, Mrs. MacQuigan," he said gruffly, to hide his
emotion. "I'd fire any man on earth, 'tis no matter the who or why,
for drinking in the cab on a run."

"But, Regan," she begged, catching at his arm, "he'll be leaving Big
Cloud with his job gone."