was a plea, but there was something more—like a pledge, almost, it seemed.
"All right," he said shortly; then, nodding at Marley in dismissal: "I hope you will remember what I've said. You may go."
Marley hesitated as though about to speak and changed his mind, evidently, for he turned, walked straight to the door and out, then his boots creaked down the stairs.
"He'll be away from the men there, all except a few," said the master mechanic, as though picking up the thread of a discussion. "And as for them, I'll see there's no trouble. There's Mrs. Coogan now that"
"Yes, Tommy"—Carleton smiled a little—"I didn't put your interest all down to love for Marley."
"What gets me," muttered Regan screwing up his eyes, as his teeth met in the plug he had dragged with some labor from his hip pocket, "what gets me is the way he went to crying afterward. Like a kid, he was. It was the blamedest thing I ever saw, what?"
"I don't think he's responsible for himself when he gets like that," replied Carleton. "That's exactly what I am afraid of. It comes over him in a flash, making a very demon of him, and then the relaxation the other way is just as uncontrollable. I don't suppose he can help it, he's made that way. It wouldn't make so much difference in an ordinary man, but with strength like his"—Carleton blew a ring of smoke ceilingwards—"you saw what he did to Boileau."
"I ain't likely to forget it," said Regan. "But if he's left alone I guess he'll be all right. Any man
