"Good-night," said Sanders, shortly. "Give up the door, Kenny, will you? You're not a ghost."
"I'm going with you, Sanders," Fairfax said; "hold on a bit."
Sanders' heart bounded and his whole expression changed. He growled—
"What are you going for? You're not due. It's cold as hell down in the yards."
Fairfax was looking at Molly and instinctively she raised her head and her eyes.
"Better give this cigar to your fireman, Sandy," Fairfax said to him as the two men buttoned up their coats and bent against the January wind.
"All right," muttered the other graciously, "give it over here. Ain't this the deuce of a night?"
The wind went down Sandy's throat and neither man spoke again. They parted at the yards, and Sanders went across the track where his fireman waited for him on his engine, and Fairfax went to the engine-house and found his legitimate mistress, his steel and iron friend, with whom he was not forbidden by common-sense to play.