"Take that for dawdling, and be off with you!"
"Oi don't think he deserved that, mate," said the cheery voice of Paddy
the fireman, as he passed down the yard. "Shure, ye can see by the
sweat of his brow he's been hurrying."
The man turned sulkily away, and Paddy whispered, "Come along of me,
Dick, I've got somethin' to show you--somethin' you'll like almost as
much as engines."
Dick followed eagerly, feeling that he had honestly earned ten minutes
of dinner hour for his own.
It was hot in the great boiler house, where the stoke holes were
glowing with fiery heat, and the throb of the machinery went on, like
giant's music, all the time.
Paddy had worked there for years, and had found out Dick's intense love
for engines and his secret ambition, some day, to be a stoker, too.
And the Irishman's warm heart had often been made angry by the Fowleys'
unkind treatment of the boy.
To-day he had a bacon sandwich and a drink of coffee to spare, and when
Dick had gratefully disposed of these he took him to a warm corner
behind the door, and showed him an old basket.
On the straw inside slept a tiny black and tan terrier, that as yet
could hardly see. Dick was on his knees in a moment, fondling the
little bundle, and crying, "Oh, Paddy, is he yours? What a _dear_
little doggie.
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