“Be a man!” exclaimed Ralph. “Don’t let that man scare you.”
“He’s no easy man to meet,” returned the old engineer. “He can put the gaff into you, if he likes.”
“The Brotherhood is behind you. Tell him where he gets off. The road is short of engineers. He won’t dare tie the can to you. You know that.”
“Don’t talk! Don’t talk, Ralph!” whispered the engineer. “I know what is threatening me better than you do. I’m growing old. And I can’t afford to drop out on a pittance.”
“Why, you must have something, Byron,” said the train dispatcher. “After all these years at a good wage——”
“Nothing. Just a little home. And that mortgaged. Sickness in the family and an invalid child has taken all I could make. Death in a wreck, or the like, is the only good thing that could come to me.”
“My gracious! Don’t talk like that.”
“It is true. I carry a big accident policy. If I’m killed my family is well fixed. If I get canned, we’ll starve. That’s about the size of it,” and the old man walked away, leaving Ralph with a lump in his throat.
“And I’ve been blaming this old fellow for not pulling out and letting some younger man have his run,” thought the young train dispatcher bitterly. “We never know! Old Byron deserves pity, not blame. A long life gone, and nothing much to show for it. Well!”
The rabble was driven back and broken up by the police. Two or three rioters were arrested. And that, as Ralph knew, did more harm than good. Every strike sympathizer that was arrested made a whole family sore at the railroad. The strikers themselves were sharp enough to keep away from the scene of trouble.