“Or might not cost them as much. That would make no difference. You strike at his independence in changing the style of the cap. And his independence is the most cherished possession of the railroader. You should know that.”
“I know that they think they are independent,” growled the general manager. “But like the rest of us, they are just about as independent as the hog on the cake of ice.”
The young train dispatcher laughed again. He could really appreciate the mental attitude of both the disgruntled railroad workers, at this time stirred up all over the country from ocean to ocean, and the higher officials of the road, who realized fully that unless all branches of the railroad pulled together during the next few months there would surely come financial wreckage to many systems.
The Great Northern was really in better circumstances than many trunk lines at the time. But on the division the headquarters of which were here in Rockton, friction had developed. The shopmen talked strike; the yardmen were disgruntled; the section hands of the division talked more than they worked. Altogether the situation was so serious that the general manager himself found it necessary to look the field over.
And it was not strange that he should have called Ralph Fairbanks into conference. Young as the latter was, he was a link between the officials and the workmen at large.
“Look here, Ralph,” said the general manager suddenly, swinging about in his chair with one leg over its arm and pointing his lighted cigar at the young fellow, “I’m going to ask you a pointed question. What do you think of Bart Hopkins?”
“Mr. Hopkins—the division super?” returned Ralph briskly and looking straight into the general manager’s face. “I think that Mr. Hopkins has a lovely daughter. As the boys say, she’s a peach!”
“No,” replied the general manager gloomily, “she’s a Cherry—a different kind of fruit. But I am not asking your opinion of Cherry Hopkins. How about Bart?”
“I guess I haven’t been thinking much about him,” confessed Ralph slowly. “He has been here in charge for three months, and to tell the truth I have not spoken to him half-a-dozen times. He has nothing to do, of course, with the dispatchers’ department. Mr. Hopkins is a pleasant-spoken man.”
“You know blamed well that I am not asking, either, about Bart Hopkins’ social qualities,” said the exasperated general manager. “What do you think of him as a railroad man? What is he doing here?”