CHAPTER III
A GOOD DEAL TO THINK OF
It was growing dusk as Ralph Fairbanks left the bungalow occupied by the divisional supervisor and his family. The young fellow felt some little disappointment at not seeing Cherry again. He believed that the girl’s mother had deliberately kept her from coming back into the library where the dispatcher had been talking with Barton Hopkins.
“Not that I wanted to talk with the super,” considered Ralph, as he found his way out of the house and closed the door behind him. “I would much rather have not done so. He’s got an eye as cold as ice. I wonder if he wasn’t hatching something in his keen brain right then to make our department more efficient,” and Ralph chuckled grimly.
“Oh, well, I guess I am out of his line, come to think of it. But he is certainly going to come a cropper before he gets through in Rockton. When the Brotherhoods begin to take notice of him, the Great Northern will lose its——Hullo! What’s this?”
As he came out through the gateway he saw several shadowy figures across the street. The street lamps were not yet lighted in this block and it was just dark enough for those figures Ralph saw to seem uncertain.
Of course, he had no expectation of being followed. He had no quarrel with any branch of the union men. In fact, most of the employees on the division were Ralph Fairbanks’ personal friends.
But he looked twice at the shadowy group as he turned toward his mother’s cottage. Again he looked back.
“There he goes!” suddenly shouted a voice. “One of Hopkins’ tools. Yah! A lickspittle of the super. Yah!”
It is a fact that “sticks and stones can break your bones, but names will never hurt you”; just the same, that old saw does not salve over the sting of unfair vituperations. Ralph was red hot on the instant.
To be dignified, too, is all very well. But Ralph knew these hoodlums quite well enough to be sure that only one course with them would make the proper impression. He possessed as much brute courage as any healthy young fellow. And he did not purpose to allow these loafers to blackguard him on the public street.
The dispatcher turned swiftly and started across the street. The several men and boys in the group yelled again. Some missile hurtled through the dusk and fairly fanned Ralph’s cheek!
“Who are you rascals?” demanded Ralph angrily. “I’ll show you a thing or two!”
He dashed at the group. None of them was very courageous, for the crowd broke and fled before him. Some woman, looking out of the window of a neighboring house, screamed. Ralph caught one fellow and pulled him back, throwing him heavily to the walk.
“I’ll find out who you are!” declared the young train dispatcher. “What do you mean by interfering with me?”
The other fellows had fled noisily. The street lights suddenly flashed up and Ralph was able to distinguish the features of the man he had captured.
“Whitey Malone! I thought you were in jail,” the young dispatcher said in surprise. “The judge gave you long enough there——”
“I got me fine paid,” blubbered the fellow.
Ralph smelled liquor on his breath. He knew Whitey Malone as a good deal of a disgrace to the community. He had never been a real railroad man. He was merely a hanger-on at the shops, sometimes doing odd jobs, or being taken on the shop payroll for a few weeks.
“It is too bad anybody was foolish enough to pay your fine,” declared Ralph sternly.
“Oh, I’ve got good friends in spite of Bart Hopkins and his new rules that turned me out of me job,” snarled Whitey.
“And a good friend paid your fine?” remarked Ralph curiously. “Could the friend be Andy McCarrey, for instance?”
“You want to know too much, Fairbanks,” said Whitey sullenly.
“I’m a good guesser,” rejoined the young dispatcher, dragging the fellow to his feet. “Now, listen to me, Whitey. This time I’ll let you go. I won’t turn you over to the police as you deserve.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” cried Whitey.
“You tempt me too far and I’ll show you right now what I dare to do. You keep away from Supervisor Hopkins’ house.”
“Yah! You’re one of his tools, you are!” exclaimed Whitey.
“Listen!” commanded Ralph, shaking him.
“Ow! Ow! Ouch!”
“Listen! You keep away from this street! And further, don’t you trouble Mr. Hopkins’ wife or daughter. Remember, I’ve got your number. If you throw another cabbage or annoy the Hopkins’ family in any way, you’ll go to the farm.”
He threw the ill-smelling fellow from him and turned sharply to walk away. Whitey could not resist another word. He yelled:
“Hopkins’ tool! You wait a while, Ralph Fairbanks. You’ll see what’s going to happen.” Then he ran off at top speed.
Ralph did not attempt to follow the fellow. To punish the half-drunken Whitey Malone would be as useless as fencing with a windmill. If anything was to be done to avert trouble and put fear of the law into the bad element around the railroad yards and shops, those higher up must feel the weight of authority. Whitey and his ilk were quite irresponsible.
Ralph told his mother the tale at the supper table, relating the entire incident from the moment he had seen Cherry Hopkins attacked by the rowdies.
“Just the same, there is trouble brewing,” he added. “It will center about Mr. Bart Hopkins. And yet, I can’t blame the G. M. for backing the super up. Mr. Hopkins is a wonderfully able man. But discipline means more to him than the contentment and happiness of his employees.”
“I am sorry if there is going to be more trouble on the road, Ralph,” the widow said, with a sigh.
“Oh, it won’t affect me any,” he said cheerfully. “I have nothing to do with the shopmen or the maintenance of way men.”
“I thought you were safely out of trouble when you got in the train dispatchers’ department,” said Mrs. Fairbanks reflectively. “But just see what happened in war time. Your peril on that army train——”
“Shucks! Nothing like that is likely to happen again, Mother,” he interrupted. “I’m a regular stick-in-the-mud now. Youngest chief dispatcher of any division of the Great Northern system. Why! I’m an old man.”
“You are just as likely as ever to be tempted to do a reckless thing,” she said, but she smiled at him. “An old man! You are just a baby to me, Ralph, after all.”
He laughed; but he blushed, too.
“Don’t baby me too much, Mother,” he said. “The girls don’t think I am a baby.”
“Indeed?” she asked. “Are there more girls? I don’t know but you are in more danger off the road, than on.”
“A new one,” said Ralph frankly. He and his mother were the very best of friends. “Didn’t I tell you the new super has a daughter? And she’s a peach! No! I mean she is a Cherry.”
“Cherry?”
“Cherry Hopkins. She is the girl I saw home just now.”
“Is she as pretty as her name?” asked Mrs. Fairbanks curiously.
“You bet she is! I’d like to have you see her. I don’t see how such a cold and severe proposition as Mr. Hopkins ever came by such a daughter.”
“So you think well of her, do you?” asked the widow rather wistfully.
“I surely do. But I don’t know what she thinks of me. You know how these girls are. They keep everything close. A fellow doesn’t have a chance to learn their opinion of him. They treat ’em all alike.”
“Quite right,” returned the widow. “The reticent girl keeps out of danger.”
“Humph! I don’t know how much danger she keeps out of,” said Ralph. “But believe me, if something is not done pretty soon to appease the shopmen it will not be safe for either Cherry or her mother to walk on the streets.”
“Well, my dear boy,” begged the widow, “I hope you will keep out of any part in the trouble. You surely cannot help Mr. Hopkins.”
“He wouldn’t let me help him if I could do so,” answered Ralph.
“All the better,” his mother said with satisfaction. “If you cannot be drawn into the trouble by either side in the controversy, very well. I shall feel safe, at least.”
“I guess I am out of it, for once,” admitted her son. “It gives a fellow a lot to think of. I hate to see trouble come to the division. That Andy McCarrey ought to be jailed. But, on the other hand, I feel that Barton Hopkins is quite as much at fault. By gracious! If I were the G. M.——”
At that his mother burst into laughter. “Oh! You are looking forward to what you would do if you were running the Great Northern,” she jeered.
“I don’t care,” cried her son. “I can see as far into a brick wall as the next one. And when I know things are going wrong——”
“You think you could fix them all up, Ralph?”
“I know I could keep things straighter than Hopkins does. Maybe I would not be so popular with the directors and stockholders; but I’d run this division without having so much friction. You can bet on that, Mother.”
“I never bet,” she replied soberly, but her eyes dancing.
She enjoyed hearing Ralph become enthusiastic over railroad matters. Having been a railroader’s wife and having joined with her husband in all his hopes and intentions, she could appreciate Ralph’s enthusiasm.
“Well, if you were betting, I could give you a tip,” laughed Ralph at last. “One of two things is going to happen. Either Mr. Hopkins will be transferred to some other sphere of usefulness, or the division is due to suffer the worst strike it has ever had. I am confident of this, Mother—I am confident.”