The work that afternoon was far more agreeable than it had been in the forenoon, and Frank was well satisfied when night came.
At the same time, he knew some of the wipers were already growing jealous of him, seeing that he promised to be something of a favorite, as he had been able to draw Tom Bowers into conversation. As a rule, Bowers swore and snarled at his assistants, but he had treated Frank in a different manner.
As Frank left the roundhouse three of the wipers were talking together near the door, and one of them said:
“There goes the fellow now. I tell you, we don’t want such chaps here.”
“We can’t help it,” said another.
“Why not? We’ve driven men out.”
“If you think you can drive him, try it. Old Slugs didn’t cut much of a figure with him.”
“Oh, I’m not going to try it alone; but the whole of us——”
Frank passed on and heard no more of their talk. He was not disturbed, for he knew there was certain to be rivalries and jealousies among workmen, and he believed he could live down the dislike for him that was being shown at the very beginning of his career.
Frank had taken a room in a cheap quarter. He felt that he must live according to his means, and his pay as wiper was sure to be poor.