“Well, yes, sir, I suppose I am,” he admitted.
Hale nodded. “Now, I want you to see the other side of it, Haggerty—my side. No division of any railroad, or anything else for that matter, can do itself justice unless everyone connected with it is pulling together for it. I want every man out here with me, and first of all I want you. There is nothing destroys respect so much as ridicule. The division, much after the fashion that an epidemic of measles springs up amongst children, took it into their heads to dislike the successor of Mr. Carleton, no matter who he might be. Now, unfortunately, instead of having checked the spread, the germs are being fostered because, back of their fun with you, a description of contempt for me is constantly kept alive. So I want you to cooperate with me, Haggerty, and show them that, after all, whether I’m a holy terror or not, whether I’m a runt of a giant, no matter what, I’m entitled to a fair deal out here in the West. There, Haggerty, that’s a pretty long sermon for me. I’m not much at preaching. Just turn what I’ve said over in your mind, that’s all. I think I can safely offer you a cigar now. Will you have one?”
Haggerty accepted the cigar with a flustered mumble of thanks, and as he went forward to the other coach he chewed the end pensively.
“Well, how’s the little fellow? Hope the ride ain’t makin’ him car-sick,” sneered Slakely, the conductor.
Haggerty strode up to the other, and shoved his fist savagely within an inch of Slakely’s nose.
“I’ll have you know, the super’s all right, you walleyed coyote, you! I’m tellin’ you he’s a man. Do I hear any remarks to the contrary?”
“Say,” gasped Slakely blankly, retreating down the aisle, “what’s the matter with you, anyway?”
“That’s what’s the matter!”—Haggerty’s explanation was more forcible than explicit, though the meaning of his clenched fist which he shook at the other was pointed enough in its inference. “That’s what’s the matter, my bucko,” he repeated fiercely, “an’ don’t you forget it! I’m givin’ it to you straight, an’ I’ll take none of your lip about it neither! See?”
Haggerty had raised the standard. Not, perhaps, as the super had expected; but according to his own ideas, or rather to his fiery temper which led him to act blindly on the spur of the moment as his impulse directed.
But it was not this method of Haggerty’s, if such a term could by any stretch of the imagination be applied to Haggerty, that was to bring about the desired result, and at the same time rid him of his tormentors—tormentors who continued to sound the cry, “Where’s Haggerty?” with undiminished frequency—tormentors who were much too wary to allow themselves to be caught anywhere within striking distance, for Haggerty’s forearm was a thing to wonder at. Instead, the end came from another source as totally different as it was unexpected. It came on the third day of the inspection trip, up in the Rockies at the new bridge across the Stony River—and it was the new bridge that did it.