MORE DISCIPLINE
That run on the Midnight Flyer was a memorable one for Ralph
Fairbanks, not alone because of the importance of the train to the
schedule of the division, but because of the mental strain he was
under all the way.
The general manager’s congratulatory wire that was put into his hand
when he climbed aboard his engine for the return trip from Hammerfest,
of course pleased him; but the young railroader felt that there was
something more due any engineer who pulled that Midnight Flyer and got
it into the western terminal on time, as he had.
Up in those offices overlooking the Rockton yard, Ralph as chief of
the train dispatching crew for the division, had got a little out of
touch with the engineers and firemen. He acknowledged it now.
He had been complaining because many of the hard-working mechanics had
not seemed to do their best in handling the division trains. Back in
the same harness that they wore, Ralph could appreciate their
difficulties again.
“And that’s the matter with Barton Hopkins,” thought the young fellow.
“He isn’t as fit as I am, for instance, to manage these men. He never
was an engineer, or sprayed coal into a firebox. No, sir! He doesn’t
know a thing about this end of railroading, save by theory.
“And mere theory is bound to get a man in wrong. Practise is the
thing! I wonder how Hopkins will come out of this, if the strike
becomes general? Why, the directors and stockholders who praise him so
now will fairly crucify him if things go wrong and he is shown to be
in any way at fault.”
Ralph believed thoroughly that Barton Hopkins was at fault. Every man
he talked to on the run was criticizing Supervisor Hopkins.
“They’re all knocking the super. The anvil chorus on Hopkins’ past,
present, and future seems to be the most popular number on the
division program,” Ralph said to his two firemen.
“Should think you would join in, Fairbanks,” said one of them. “You’ve
got little to thank him for.”
“There is something bigger than Barton Hopkins to consider,” replied
Ralph.
“Sure! The rules of the Brotherhood,” was the quick reply.
“No! The welfare of the road. The Great Northern has supported me for
some years. I mean to support it. When I can’t do so I’ll resign and
get another job. But I won’t bite the hand that has fed me for so
long.”
“You would not strike, then, even if the Brotherhood ordered it?”
asked one of the firemen.
“Only for some very grave reason. Not over such a silly rule as those
shopmen went out on.”
“Oh, they had plenty of other grievances.”
“So have we all. Everybody is sore in these times. It’s in the air.
Fault-finding seems to be a germ-producing disease,” and Ralph
grinned. “But make up your mind,” and he added this earnestly, “I am
not going to be bit by such a microbe as McCarrey. Not any!”
Perhaps his sane and sensible speech on every possible occasion did
something toward keeping the better class of Great Northern employees
steady. But when he got back to Rockton on the return trip he found
the yards almost dead. The morning yard shift had gone out when they
found that the new order of the supervisor’s on the shop board applied
to them as well.
At once, of course, the train dispatching department was balled up
with late freights. But as it stood, Ralph had no part of that worry
on his mind. Mr. Glidden had sent one of his best men from main
headquarters to sit at Ralph’s desk, and the latter started home
through the bustling streets, weary but satisfied. He hoped to put in
a long sleep before being called for the midnight run again.
Was it by chance, or with voluntary intention, that the young
railroader went through the block on which Cherry Hopkins lived? He
did not always walk home that way. But it was true some thought of the
pretty girl was almost always in his mind at this time.
He had passed the Hopkins house without looking at it and was several
yards beyond when he heard a door slam and a clear voice called to
him:
“Ralph Fairbanks! Ralph Fairbanks!”
Ralph wheeled to see the girl, her bobbed hair flying, running down
the path and out of the gate. But he saw something else, too. Coming
along the sidewalk and increasing his stride as he saw and heard his
daughter, was Mr. Barton Hopkins. His countenance displayed all the
dislike and disapproval of Ralph that the latter knew the supervisor
felt.
“Oh, Ralph!” cried the unconscious Cherry. “I want to speak to you.”
Ralph walked back to meet her. He did not intend to run from Barton
Hopkins. But he foresaw trouble for the pretty and impulsive girl.
“Oh, Ralph Fairbanks! I have heard what you did last night. It was
fine of you—taking out the Flyer when the poor old engineer dropped
dead. What a terrible thing that was!”
“You are right. It is a sorry thing for By’s family. I understand he
did not leave them well fixed.”
“Won’t the Brotherhood——”
“It will do all that is possible. But there is no real pension for an
engineer’s family. He only carried accident insurance. There must have
always been something the matter with his heart that kept him from
getting regular insurance. And he hid it.”
“And was a criminal, thereby,” said the harsh voice of Supervisor
Hopkins behind his daughter. “Suppose that had happened—his death—when
he was driving his engine on the road? Somebody was at fault there,
and I mean to find out who. The old man should have been retired long
ago.”
“Oh, father! If he needed the work——”
“What do you know about that?” Mr. Hopkins said coldly. “Don’t believe
everything you hear, Cherry.”
“But Mr. Fairbanks says——”
“Least of all what this young man says. And now, once for all, I tell
you to drop this intimacy with Fairbanks,” he continued, starting with
his daughter toward the gate to the grounds. “I don’t care to have you
associate with him. Understand?”
“Oh, father!” cried Cherry, almost in tears. “Ralph has been kind to
me. I am sure he has done you no harm,” Ralph overheard her reply.
“Neither of your statements enters into the consideration at all. I
object to your associating with this fellow.”
“Why, father!”
“You have heard what I have said,” said Barton Hopkins bitterly.
“Fairbanks would better keep away from here. As for you, Cherry, I can
make you obey me. Let him alone. Don’t speak to him again.”
The girl’s head went up and she stared at her father proudly. Ralph
had previously decided that she did not take much after her mouse-like
mother. In some ways she had all the assertiveness of the supervisor
himself.
“I will obey you in every way possible, father,” she said softly but
firmly. “But I cannot pass Ralph on the street as though I did not
know him. He is my friend. He has been kind to me. I could not treat
him as you want me to.”
“Then, young lady, I’ll send you away where you will not be likely to
cross his path. You are getting too bold and stubborn, anyway. Go in
and pack your trunk. I’ll see your mother. You shall start this very
day for your aunt’s at Selby Junction. Go into the house!”
He hustled her up the path toward the house as though she were a small
child who had disobeyed him. Cherry was crying. As for Ralph, he had
never before so wanted to hit a man and refrained from doing it!
“Discipline,” he growled, as he moved away. “That is what he calls it.
He runs his household and his family just as he tries to run the
division.
“Well, sir, unless I much miss my guess, he is going to fall down, and
fall down badly, on both propositions. But poor Cherry! Wish I hadn’t
walked this way. I got her in bad. And now he’ll send her away and
I’ll probably never see her again,” he finished, with a sigh.