The master mechanic scratched his head in perplexity, but his reply was prompt and hearty enough.
“Sure. Sure thing, Mrs. Coogan,” he said. “Send him down to me. I’ll find him something to do.”
To Marley he talked a little differently.
“I ain’t quite sure I like the looks of you,” he flung out bluntly enough, taking in the new man from head to toe. “There’s no job for you, but I’ll give you a chance.”
Marley’s eyes came down in a flutter.
“Thanks, sir,” he mumbled nervously.
Tommy Regan wasn’t used to being “sir” ed—the Hill Division did its business with few handles and it wasn’t long on the amenities.
“Humph!” he ejaculated with a snort, and a stream of black-strap laid the dust on a good few inches of engine cinders. “You can hand any thanks you’ve got coming over to Mother Coogan. And say”—the master mechanic wriggled his fat forefinger under Marley’s nose—“thanks are all right as far as they go, but I figure you owe her something over and above that, what?”
A faint flush came into Marley’s cheeks and he darted a quick look at Regan. His eyes were on the ground and his hands had suddenly disappeared in his pockets before he answered.
“I’m going to board with her a spell,” he said in a slow way, as though he was measuring every word before it was uttered.