“It’s a queer proposition. How does it come this McCarrey butts in here? And him not a union man, nor even an employee of the Great Northern?”
“I give it to you straight, Zeph,” sighed Ralph, buttoning his coat over the wallet. “I believe McCarrey followed the new supervisor here.”
“What!”
“No ‘what’ about it. Mr. Hopkins—the G. M. admitted it to me—got into trouble on an eastern railroad. This McCarrey had a run-in with Barton Hopkins there. As soon as Mr. Hopkins took hold here at Rockton as supervisor of the division, McCarrey appeared.”
“And then the trouble started?” demanded Zeph.
“You said it. It looks like a personal fight, more than anything else, between McCarrey and the super.”
“But why do our men lend themselves so easily to the leadership of an outsider like McCarrey?”
“He’s got their number, I guess,” grumbled Ralph. “He knows how Mr. Hopkins starts friction with the men. ‘Discipline!’ Humph!”
“He’s a regular red flannel shirt, is he?” grumbled Zeph Dallas. “I heard he had everybody scratching. Has he jumped you yet, Ralph?”
“Not much. And I don’t suppose he’ll try to. We get our orders from Mr. Glidden at main headquarters.”