"WHO looks a mustang in the eye?
Changety, chang, chang! Bash! Crash! BANG!" So sang Bibbs, his musical gaieties inaudible to his fellow-workmen because of the noise of the machinery.

He had discovered long ago that the uproar was rhythmical, and it had been intolerable; but now, on the afternoon of the fourth day of his return, he was accompanying the swing and clash of the metals with jubilant vaquero fragments, mingling improvisations of his own among them, and mocking the zinc-eater's crash with vocal imitations: Fearless and bold, Chang! Bash! Behold! With a leap from the ground To the saddle in a bound, And away--and away! Hi-YAY! WHO looks a chang, chang, bash, crash, bang! WHO cares a dash how you bash and you crash?
NIGHT'S on the way EACH time I say, Hi-YAY! Crash, chang! Bash, chang! Chang, bang, BANG! 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.