Healy scratched his head. "I will," he said; "I'll do ut. He's a foine lad."
Regan crossed the yard to the gates of the big shops. They were still unlocked, and he went through into the storekeeper's office. Grumpy was sorting the brass time-checks. He glanced up as Regan came in.
"I suppose you're lookin' fer yer kid again," he said sourly.
"That's what I am, Steve," Regan returned, diplomatically dispensing with the other's nickname.
"Well, he ain't here," Grumpy announced, returning to his checks. "I've just been through the shops, an' I'd seen him if he was."
The engineer's face clouded. "He must be somewhere about, Steve. John said he saw him come over here, and the wife was down to the roundhouse looking for him, so he didn't go home. Let's go through the shops and see if we can't find him."
"I don't get no overtime fer chasin' lost kids," growled Grumpy.
Nevertheless, he got up and walked through the door leading into the forge-shop, which Regan held open for him. The place was gloomy and deserted. Here and there a forge-fire, dying, still glowed dully. At the end of the room the men stopped, and Grumpy, noting Regan's growing anxiety, gave surly comfort.
"Wouldn't likely be here, anyhow," he said. "Fitting-shop fer him; but we'll try the machine-shop first on the way through."
The two men went forward, prying behind planers, drills, shapers, and lathes. The machines took gro-
