The long room was ceaselessly thundering with metallic sound; the air was thick with the smell of oil; the floor trembled perpetually; everything was implacably in motion—­nowhere was there a rest for the dizzied eye.  The first time he had entered the place Bibbs had become dizzy instantly, and six months of it had only added increasing nausea to faintness.  But he felt neither now.  “All day long I’ll send my thoughts to you.  You must keep remembering that your friend stands beside you.”  He saw her there beside him, and the greasy, roaring place became suffused with radiance.  The poet was happy in his machine-shop; he was still a poet there.  And he fed his old zinc-eater, and sang: 

      Away—­and away! 
      Hi-yay! 
  Crash, bash, crash, bash, chang! 
    Wild are his eyes,
    Fiercely he dies! 
      Hi-yah! 
  Crash, bash, bang!  Bash, chang! 
    Ready to fling
    Our gloves in the ring—­

He was unaware of a sensation that passed along the lines of workmen.  Their great master had come among them, and they grinned to see him standing with Dr. Gurney behind the unconscious Bibbs.  Sheridan nodded to those nearest him—­he had personal acquaintance with nearly all of them—­but he kept his attention upon his son.  Bibbs worked steadily, never turning from his machine.  Now and then he varied his musical programme with remarks addressed to the zinc-eater.

“Go on, you old crash-basher!  Chew it up!  It’s good for you, if you don’t try to bolt your vittles.  Fletcherize, you pig!  That’s right —­you’ll never get a lump in your gizzard.  Want some more?  Here’s a nice, shiny one.”

The words were indistinguishable, but Sheridan inclined his head to Gurney’s ear and shouted fiercely:  “Talkin’ to himself!  By George!”

Gurney laughed reassuringly, and shook his head.

Bibbs returned to song: 

  Chang!  Chang, bash, chang!  It’s I! 
  Who looks a mustang in the eye? 
    Fearless and bo—­

His father grasped him by the arm.  “Here!” he shouted.  “Let me show you how to run a strip through there.  The foreman says you’re some better’n you used to be, but that’s no way to handle—­Get out the way and let me show you once.”

“Better be careful,” Bibbs warned him, stepping to one side.

“Careful?  Boh!” Sheridan seized a strip of zinc from the box.  “What you talkin’ to yourself about?  Tryin’ to make yourself think you’re so abused you’re goin’ wrong in the head?”

“‘Abused’?  No!” shouted Bibbs.  “I was singing—­because I ‘like it’!  I told you I’d come back and ‘like it.’”

Sheridan may not have understood.  At all events, he made no reply, but began to run the strip of zinc through the machine.  He did it awkwardly—­and with bad results.