“I don’t know,” put in one of them, hesitatingly. “I don’t believe we’ll ever be able to boss the road. It don’t look right. If you had a business, you’d want to run it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” flashed Bassett. “But I’d run it square.”
“O’ course; we kin do our best to make ’em run it square.”
“Well, that’s all we’re tryin’ to do now, ain’t it?”
“Some o’ you fellers seem to be hopin’ there’ll be a strike. Mebbe they’ll reinstate Bassett.”
“Mebbe they will,” growled that worthy, “but I don’t believe it. They ain’t got manhood enough to do that.”
In his heart, he knew that he had been wrong, and did not deserve reinstatement; but this consciousness of guilt interfered in no way with the bold face he turned to the world, and the loud voice in which he proclaimed his wrongs. And a bold face and loud voice often have great weight with the unthinking, who mistake them for the earmarks of innocence.
“Well, I hope they will,” said another of the older men, wistfully. “I ain’t in no sort o’ shape to stand a strike.”
“I ain’t either,” put in one of the younger men, boldly, “but that don’t make no difference. I’d ruther starve ’n work fer a company as wouldn’t do the right thing.”
“It’s all right to starve yourself,” rejoined the older man. “I used t’ feel that way, too; but when it comes t’ starvin’ yer family, it’s a different matter—mighty different.”