“That don’t count on a stormy night like this.”
“System counts in this establishment always, Jim Evans,” said Mr. Forgan.
“I ran all the way.”
“Stopped too long at the corner saloon, then,” put in Dave Adams, a veteran engineer of the road.
Evans glared at the man who spoke, but recognizing a privileged character, stared down the row of loiterers and demanded:
“Who’s got my run?”
“Do you own any particular run, Jim?” inquired Adams, with a grin.
“Well, Griscom’s was due me.”
“Young Fairbanks was on hand, so it’s his run now.”
“That kid’s,” sneered Evans, turning on Ralph 3 with angry eyes. “See here, young fellow, do you think it’s square cutting in on a regular man this way?”