“Hold on! What are you fellows going to do?” Ralph demanded of this man.
“We’re going to hold a meeting. Beeman’s Hall. We’ll stand no more of this blamed foolishness. Anyhow, we won’t stand for that cut in wages they say is coming. I tell you, Fairbanks; the whole road is going to the dogs.”
“And you propose to help it go there, do you?” Ralph demanded.
But he knew it was useless to argue the matter. The men were red hot. They were discarding the advice and the orders of their own union officials. Andy McCarrey was about to see his cherished plans come to fruition.
CHAPTER XI
MORE FRICTION
Ralph Fairbanks disliked to do it. But it seemed that he was the first responsible person about the railroad building to mark the beginning of the wildcat strike of the shopmen. Somebody had to tell Barton Hopkins, and it seemed the duty devolved upon him.
“The old man will be mighty sore,” said Johnny, the operator. “I’d better shoot the news to main headquarters, hadn’t I?”
“Yes,” replied Ralph, going into the telephone booth.
He asked the operator for Mr. Hopkins’ house number. It was not very late in the evening and he knew Mr. Hopkins could not have gone to bed. But it was several minutes during which he heard the indicator buzzing again and again, before he received any answer.
Then it was not the supervisor’s sharp voice that said: “Mr. Hopkins’ residence. What is wanted?”