At once Andy McCarrey and others got up in Beeman Hall and shouted about the wrongs of the workingman and how the police were governed by the corporation.
“Hot air! Hot air!” said John, the old timekeeper, to Ralph. “Just the same, Jim Perrin is doing his dirtiest in the union, too. Mark my word, Mr. Fairbanks; there’s something going to break—and soon.”
Ralph, however, went on the even tenor of his way and fully believed that whatever happened, it would not affect him. He would have liked to see Zeph Dallas again or hear from Bob Adair.
But Zeph had disappeared right after Ralph’s last interview with him and, day or night, the train dispatcher had seen no sign of the fellow. He was so troubled over the night schedules, however, that every evening he went downtown again after supper.
“I never knew you to be so particular about your dispatching, Ralph,” his mother complained. “Do you really expect trouble?”
“I’ll tell you, Mother,” he said, trying to smile. “When we have to crowd the trains so close I naturally feel anxiety. I’ve got good men on the job. But some night I expect that Midnight Flyer or some other important train to stall and ball up the entire schedule.
“These wheat trains clutter up the east-bound tracks all night long. We have had two breakdowns within forty-eight hours this week. The yard was not cleared of west-bound freight this morning until nine o’clock. We’re in a mess!”
“But they cannot hold you responsible for any of the trouble,” his mother declared loyally.
“I don’t know. The way the super looks at me when we meet—— Humph! But of course, Mother, I feel responsibility. I want the trains to get in and out on time. The reports going back to main headquarters aren’t encouraging. Although Mr. Glidden is mighty nice about it.”
“He would be,” declared Mrs. Fairbanks. “He understands.”