STRIKING A JOB.
A shout went up. For the first time since his entrance into the
roundhouse Old Slugs was whipped. He had browbeaten and bullied
everybody except the foreman, and now this clean, boyish-looking
stranger had defeated him in a square fight.
Such a thing had seemed beyond the range of possibility, but it had
happened.
“Here comes the foreman!”
Some one uttered the words, and there was a scattering as a dark-faced
man was seen walking swiftly toward the group.
Old Slugs started to get up, but he fell back limply, as if all the
strength had been beaten out of him.
The victor calmly took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood off his
knuckles. He scarcely seemed to be breathing heavily after his recent
exertions.
The foreman came up and looked the youth over.
“I don’t know how you did it,” he said; “but it was a pretty job, young
man. I saw the whole thing from start to finish.”
“I am sorry it occurred, sir,” was the calm retort; “but if you saw it
all you know I was not to blame.”
The foreman nodded.
“Hall attempted to bully you--I know. I’ll discharge him.”
“Not on my account, sir. It strikes me that he has received punishment
enough. I am satisfied, and you may be sure I shall make no complaint.”
The foreman looked the defeated wiper over.
“Get up!” he growled. “Go wash the blood off your face and go to work
again, if you are able. I should have fired you if this gentleman had
requested it.”
The wiper succeeded in getting upon his feet, but he staggered a bit as
he walked away.
Something like a grim smile passed over the face of the foreman.
“He has received a good lesson,” nodded the man. “It was what he
deserved, and I’m glad you were able to give it to him. You are a
wonder for a boy.”
“I am hardly a boy, sir.”
“Well, you are hardly more than that. Did I hear you say you were
looking for work?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What kind of work?”
“Any kind that I can get.”
“Why, there is no work in here that you would do. You are not a
machinist?”
“No, sir.”
“Know anything about locomotives?”
“No, sir.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s no use to talk to you. The only work for an
inexperienced man in this place is that of wiper, and you would not
like that kind of work.”
“I must do something. Can you give me a place as wiper?”
The foreman lifted his eyebrows and again surveyed the youth critically.
“It can’t be that you understand what wipers have to do. It is the
lowest and dirtiest work on a railroad.”
“I presumed so.”
“They have to wipe engines, turn the table, shovel ashes, wash out
boilers and tanks, help the machinists to lug and lift, and do a
hundred other things equally unpleasant.”
“But there is a chance for promotion?”
“Oh, yes, for good men; but it comes slow. A man must wipe long enough
to become familiar with every part of an engine, and know how one is
run before he can get anything better. Even then there may be two or
three others waiting ahead of him, and he is likely to lose his courage
before he gets an opportunity to fire.”
“But engine wipers stand a show of becoming firemen?”
“Yes.”
“I wish you would give me a chance as wiper, sir.”
“But you will not stand the work.”
“Won’t I? I am strong, and I think I can stand it.”
“I do not mean that way. You will become disgusted and quit before you
have worked a day.”
“Try me.”
“Are you in earnest?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is your name?”
“Frank Merriwell.”
“You have never done any hard work. Your hands show that.”
“No, sir.”
“I don’t understand why you want such a job.”
“Because I must do something, and I think I would like to become a
locomotive engineer.”
“Why are you forced to work, Mr. Merriwell? You look like a young man
of means.”
“I have lost every dollar I had in the world. I was in college, but the
loss of my fortune forced me to leave. When I knew I must do something,
I resolved to try to get a job on a railroad. That is all, sir.”
“Parents living?”
“My mother is dead.”
“And your father?”
“I know not where he is.”
“Hum! You’ve had hard luck. But you are not fit to become a wiper. Why,
the men would not give you any peace. They would regard you as a dude,
and worry you to death.”
The youth smiled.
“I think I can take care of myself, sir,” he said, with quiet
confidence. “Haven’t I proved that?”
“By George! I really believe you can! And you seem to be in earnest.
I shouldn’t like to bother with you if you are going to get sick in
a few hours or a day or two and leave your work. Too many such chaps
start in here.”
“I give you my word that you need not fear that I will leave within a
day, or a week--or a month.”
“I hardly think you will. If you have the right sort of stuff in you
you will work up. I began as wiper, as did the master mechanic and
nearly all the engineers on this road. There are some good men among
them, too.”
“I believe that.”
“Have you any relatives to support--brothers, sisters, or anything like
that?”
“No, sir.”
“Drink?”
“Not a drop.”
“That’s good. You stand all the better chance. Drink is what keeps
many a good man down. Of course, if a man wants to take a little beer
occasionally, no one can really object to that. I suppose you take some
beer once in a while?”
The face of the youth flushed.
“I told you, sir, that I do not drink anything.”
“All right, all right. I thought perhaps you would not consider that
drinking. Don’t usually ask men these questions, but I’m interested in
you.”
The youth said nothing.
The foreman seemed to hesitate, and it was plain that he was not yet
fully convinced that it was worth while to bother with this clean,
dainty-looking stripling.
The applicant seemed to think that he had said quite enough, and he
did not urge his case at all, but stood there waiting.
The sound of hammering was to be heard in the roundhouse. Another
engine ran in on the table outside, and some wipers swung it round.
Then the engine ran out again upon the tracks, instead of backing into
the house.
Old Slugs, his face patched up with plaster, came back and went to work
on the engine he had been cleaning. He moved slowly, as if he felt sore
in every limb.
The foreman smiled the least bit as he watched the man. He nodded his
head, and there was an expression of satisfaction on his dark face.
Then he turned to Frank Merriwell.
“A fellow who could whip Martin Hall should have grit enough for
anything,” he said. “Come back to-morrow morning, prepared for work.
You shall have a job.”