Part 7 (1/2)

And so Regan went that afternoon from the super's office over to Mrs.

McCann's short-order house, and up to Owsley's room.

”Well, how's Jake to-day?” he inquired, in his bluff, cheery way, drawing a chair up beside the bed.

”I'm fine, Regan,” said Owsley earnestly. ”Fine! What day is this?”

”Thursday,” Regan told him.

”Yes,” said Owsley, ”that's right--Thursday. Well, you can put me down to take the old 1601 out Monday night. I'm figuring to get back on the run Monday night, Regan.”

Regan ran his hand through his short-cropped hair, twisted a little uneasily in his chair--and coughed to fill in the gap.

”I wouldn't be in a hurry about it, if I were you, Jake,” he said. ”In fact, that's what I came over to have a little talk with you about. We don't think you're strong enough yet for the cab.”

”Who don't?” demanded Owsley antagonistically.

”The doctor and Carleton and myself--we were just speaking about it.”

”Why ain't I?” demanded Owsley again.

”Why, good Lord, Jake,” said Regan patiently, ”you've been sick--dashed near two months. A man can't expect to get out of bed after a lay-off like that and start right in again before he gets his strength back.

You know that as well as I do.”

”Mabbe I do, and mabbe I don't,” said Owsley, a little uncertainly.

”How'm I going to get strong?”

”Well,” replied Regan, ”the doc says open-air work to build you up, and we were thinking you might like to put in a month, say, with Bill McCann up on the Elk River work--helping him boss Polacks, for instance.”

Owsley didn't speak for a moment, he seemed to be puzzling something out; then, still in a puzzled way:

”And then what about after the month?”

”Why then,” said Regan, ”then”--he reached for his hip pocket and his plug, pulled out the plug, picked the heart-shaped tin tag off with his thumb nail, decided not to take a bite, and put the blackstrap back in his pocket again. ”Why then,” said he, ”you'll--you ought to be all right again.”

Owsley sat up in bed.

”You playing straight with me, Regan?” he asked slowly.

”Sure,” said Regan gruffly. ”Sure, I am.”

Owsley pa.s.sed his hand two or three times across his eyes.

”I don't quite seem to get the signals right on what's happened,” he said. ”I guess I've been pretty sick. I kind of had a feeling a minute ago that you were trying to side-track me, but if you say you ain't, I believe you. I ain't going to be side-tracked. When I quit for keeps, I quit in the cab with my boots on--no way else. I'll tell you something, Regan. When I go out, I'm going out with my hand on the throttle, same as it's been for more'n twenty years. And me and the old 1601, we're going out together--that's the way I want to go when the time comes--and that's the way I'm going. I've known it for a long time.”

”How do you mean you've known it for a long time?” Regan swallowed a lump in his throat, as he asked the question--Owsley's mind seemed to be wandering a little.

”I dunno,” said Owsley, and his hand crept to his head again. ”I dunno--I just know.” Then abruptly: ”I got to get strong for the old 1601, ain't I? That's right. I'll go up there--only you give me your word I get the 1601 back after the month.”

Regan's eyes, from the floor, lifted and met Owsley's steadily.