Now the advertisement was before them, set out with much pomp and ceremony among a long list of other stuff. Three shift engineers at a salary of £104 per annum.
Carstairs felt a singular sense of satisfaction as he surveyed the advertisement. "We'll toss for first choice as usual, I suppose," he said.
"Of course," Darwen answered. "They'll never select two chaps from one station, and I'm certain it reduces the chances of both." He threw a coin in the air.
"Tails," Carstairs said.
Darwen turned it up. "Tails" it was. "There you are," he said, with a genial smile, pocketing the coin.
Carstairs wrote out his application, and copied his testimonials with great care on unruled foolscap. About a fortnight later, Thompson, the chief assistant, called him into his office.
He picked up a letter from his desk. "I've got a letter from Southville in reference to your application for Shift Engineer. The chief there asks my recommendation between you and Darwen."
"Darwen?" Carstairs repeated in astonishment.
Thompson glanced at the letter. "Yes, Darwen," he said. He hummed and hesitated a minute, while Carstairs was turning over various thoughts and reasons in his mind. "You see it's a new job, Carstairs. I have a very high opinion of your abilities. The testing and that, that we have done together, but—er—things are always going wrong in a new job, you know. I think it will be better for you if you stay here till you get more accustomed to fuses, etc., going."
Carstairs flushed; from his neck to the roots of his hair he was a vivid red. Thompson looked down at the letter he held in his hands.