"Well?" queried Mr. Driscoll impatiently.
He could find no dishonest motive. "But if I took the job I'd have to go out of the union," he said finally.
"It oughtn't break your heart to quit Foley's company."
Tom walked to the window and looked meditatively into the street. Mr. Driscoll's offer was tempting. It was full of possibilities that appealed to his ambition. He was confident of his ability to fill this position, and was confident that he would develop capacity to fill higher positions. This chance would prove the first of a series of opportunities that would lead him higher and higher,—perhaps even to Mr. Driscoll's own desk. He knew he had it in him. And the comfort, even the little luxuries, the broader opportunities for self-development that would be his, all appealed to him. And he was aware of the joy this new career would give to Maggie. But to leave the union—to give up the fight——
He turned back to Mr. Driscoll. "I can't do it."
"What!" cried the contractor in amazement.
"I can't do it," Tom repeated.
"Do you know what you're throwing away? If you turned out well, and I know you would, why there'd be no end of chances for advancement. I've got a lot of weak men on my pay-roll."
"I understand the chance, Mr. Driscoll. But I can't take it. Do you know why Foley's got it in for me?"
"He don't like you, I suppose."