As Allan looked down into the faces gazing up at him, his heart failed him for an instant. How could any good work be done with such material? But he shook the thought away.
“I’ll have your details ready to-morrow morning,” he said, “and we’ll see that you are properly taken care of. We are going to fight this thing through to a finish, and we rely on your help to break this strike, for which there wasn’t the shadow of excuse. I don’t believe there’ll be any trouble, but we’ll take every precaution and see that you are thoroughly protected. And when the strike is over, a permanent position will be open to every one of you who wants it and who has made good. I hope that will mean all of you.”
There was a little feeble applause at this, but most of his listeners knew, deep down in their hearts, that they would not make good, that they were unfit to hold a permanent position anywhere.
“If you want anything,” Allan added, “ask for it. If you’re not comfortable, say so. Be loyal to the road and the road will be loyal to you. Good night.”
But as he left the place and walked slowly homeward, the futility of his appeal sickened him. Why should they be loyal to the road—what incentive was there? How could those weak and hopeless and degraded creatures be loyal to anything, except their own desperate needs? They had taken the job offered them for the money there was in it; or, perhaps, for the excitement which might follow. They would be careless and incompetent—it would be a tremendous task to get any results from them at all. He had never before appreciated how difficult it would be. For the railroad was a machine infinitely complicated, infinitely delicate. At noon on the morrow, scores of smooth and nicely-fitting parts would be removed, to be replaced by rough and ill-fitting ones. Who could expect the machine to work smoothly—or, indeed, to work at all,—under such circumstances?
CHAPTER XVI
THE STRIKE BEGINS
The first day of the strike dawned much as any winter day might—cold and blustery, with a threat of snow in the air. It can not be denied that Allan was exceedingly nervous as he hastened to work. He stopped first at the freight-house, but both Stanley and Reddy Magraw reported that everything there was serene, and that the strikers had made no effort to interfere with the men who were to supplant them.
About the yards, too, everything was moving as usual, and Allan began to wonder if he were the only one to whom the coming hours seemed threatening and full of menace. He might almost have fancied he had dreamed the whole thing but for the patrol on duty before the freight-house. At his desk, he made out the detail of crews from among the strike-breakers, using for this purpose the reports which Mr. Round had secured of the past performances and experience of the strangers. These reports were anything but trustworthy, since they had come from the men themselves, but they were the only thing to be had, and he made up his lists from them, giving the more important trains to the men who seemed best fitted to handle them. One thing made the task somewhat easier than it would otherwise have been. He knew that for a few days, at least, there would be no need to supply the places of conductors and brakemen; only engineers and firemen had to be provided now, but, even at that, it was with no little uneasiness that he finally passed the list over to his stenographer to be copied.
The first important train for which he must supply a crew was Number Three, the west-bound flyer, leaving Wadsworth at 2.30 P. M. As engineer, he had selected a man named Hummel, who, from the report, seemed to have had an exceptional experience. But as the morning progressed, Allan grew more and more uneasy over the prospect of choosing the wrong man for this important post, and finally decided to have a look at Hummel before announcing the detail. So he called up the freight-house and asked that that individual be sent over to him.