"I do," said Beezer again. It was coming easier than he had expected—there was a jubilant trill in his voice.
"All right," said Regan. "I'll speak to Clarihue about it. You can start in wiping in the morning."
"Wiping?" echoed Beezer faintly.
"Sure," said Regan. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it? Wiping—a dollar-ten a day."
"Look here," said Beezer with a gulp; "I ain't joking about this."
"Well, then, what are you kicking about?" demanded Regan.
"About wiping and a dollar-ten," said Beezer. "What would I do with a dollar-ten, me with a wife and three kids?"
"I don't know what you'd do with it," returned Regan. "What do you expect?"
"I don't expect to start in wiping," said Beezer, beginning to get a little hot.
"You've been here long enough to know the way up," said Regan. "Wiping, firing—you take your turn. And your turn'll come for an engine according to the way things are shaping up now in, say, about fifteen years."