Bill measured out some machine oil and drank it. He got the tobacco,
and the others got what they called "the fun of seein' Bill drink oil!"

The second bell rang, and Bill went up to the other end of the shop,
where Arvie was already at work sweeping shavings from under a bench.

The young terror seated himself on the end of this bench,
drummed his heels against the leg, and whistled. He was in no hurry,
for his foreman had not yet arrived. He amused himself
by lazily tossing chips at Arvie, who made no protest for a while.
"It would be -- better -- for this country," said the young terror,
reflectively and abstractedly, cocking his eye at the whitewashed roof beams
and feeling behind him on the bench for a heavier chip --
"it would be better -- for this country -- if young fellers
didn't think so much about -- about -- racin' -- AND fightin'."

"You let me alone," said Arvie.

"Why, what'll you do?" exclaimed Bill, bringing his eye down
with feigned surprise. Then, in an indignant tone, "I don't mind
takin' a fall out of yer, now, if yer like."

Arvie went on with his work. Bill tossed all the chips within reach,
and then sat carelessly watching some men at work, and whistling
the "Dead March". Presently he asked:

"What's yer name, Balmy?"

No answer.