It was in Mr. Round’s office at Cincinnati that Mr. Schofield was shown this utterance, and the general manager watched him as he read it, a cynical smile upon his lips.
“You see what’s coming, don’t you?” he inquired, when Mr. Schofield looked up.
“What is coming?”
“A strike—and public sympathy is going to be on the other side.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. I’m afraid we made a mistake, Schofield, in peaching on Nixon.”
“Do you know,” said the superintendent, “I felt a sort of presentiment of that sort when I started in to give him away. I came mighty near not doing it.”
“I wish you hadn’t. Why didn’t you heed the presentiment?”
“Well,” answered Mr. Schofield, slowly, “in the first place, we had mapped out the plan to follow, and I didn’t quite feel like discarding it on my own motion. And in the second place—well—I’m almost ashamed to tell you—just as I shut my mouth and got ready to sit down, I remembered young West’s face as it looked when I spoke of bribery to him. Somehow, I just had to go on.”
“It was scarcely the time to heed a young idealist,” said Mr. Round, dryly. “But I’m not blaming you—the mistake was mine, and I take the responsibility for it. I flattered myself that I adopted the course I did from purely utilitarian motives, but I’m inclined to suspect that West’s enthusiasm had something to do with my decision. You can’t mix railroading and impractical idealism, Ed.; the railroading will suffer every time.”