The dispatcher turned swiftly and started across the street. The several men and boys in the group yelled again. Some missile hurtled through the dusk and fairly fanned Ralph’s cheek!
“Who are you rascals?” demanded Ralph angrily. “I’ll show you a thing or two!”
He dashed at the group. None of them was very courageous, for the crowd broke and fled before him. Some woman, looking out of the window of a neighboring house, screamed. Ralph caught one fellow and pulled him back, throwing him heavily to the walk.
“I’ll find out who you are!” declared the young train dispatcher. “What do you mean by interfering with me?”
The other fellows had fled noisily. The street lights suddenly flashed up and Ralph was able to distinguish the features of the man he had captured.
“Whitey Malone! I thought you were in jail,” the young dispatcher said in surprise. “The judge gave you long enough there——”
“I got me fine paid,” blubbered the fellow.
Ralph smelled liquor on his breath. He knew Whitey Malone as a good deal of a disgrace to the community. He had never been a real railroad man. He was merely a hanger-on at the shops, sometimes doing odd jobs, or being taken on the shop payroll for a few weeks.
“It is too bad anybody was foolish enough to pay your fine,” declared Ralph sternly.
“Oh, I’ve got good friends in spite of Bart Hopkins and his new rules that turned me out of me job,” snarled Whitey.