“I’ll have some testimony to bring in, too, at that,” said Ralph hotly. “Only I doubt right here and now, Mr. Hopkins, your power to take me into your office. I am train dispatcher of this division——”
“Stick to your job, then,” put in Mr. Hopkins sharply. “I ask you: What are you doing on that switch engine?”
Ralph came down from the deck on the run. He tore off the overalls. His face blazed. He had to wait a moment to control his voice he was so angry.
“If you think I have stepped in here where I have no business, believe me, I can get out,” he said. “I had no idea of turning in a time card for what I was doing. I helped out because I wanted to see things move. Dooley——”
“Mr. Dooley much overstepped his authority when he allowed you to drive that switcher. He knew it—and knows it, now.”
“What in thunder would I have done, Mr. Hopkins?” broke in the excited yardmaster. “Not a man on the list could I call——”
“It was a matter to put up to your superior.”
“Well, now!” roared the angry old man, “where was you when I needed to start things going after that danged striker hopped his job? Should I sit down and let the yard go stale and all this freight hang fire while I waited to consult you, Mr. Hopkins?”
“That is exactly what you should have done,” declared the supervisor in the same decisive way.
“Great Grief and Jumping Dromedaries!” yelled Dooley, and he literally went up into the air. “It is no wonder the men are striking. I don’t blame ’em! I am on strike myself from this moment——”