Snow on the Headlight Part 5

"Give 'm a drink," said the foreman, and the bar-keeper set out two gla.s.ses and a large red bottle. While the foreman's back was turned and the bar-man waited upon another customer, Billy did the honors. He filled both gla.s.ses and had emptied one when the foreman, having unearthed a quarter, turned and remarked to the liquor man that he did not drink. The man was in the act of removing the gla.s.s when Billy grabbed it, and with a quick crook of his elbow pitched the whiskey down his neck.

"Now will you go and eat?"

"Naw--go t' work," said Greene, hitching up his trousers.

Off they went together, but at every saloon (and there are dozens of them in Chicago), the new engineer of the Pacific express insisted upon drinking. By hard coaxing the foreman had succeeded in pa.s.sing three or four of them when they were met by a couple of strikers.

"h.e.l.lo Billy," said one of the men. "Where you goin'?"

"Goin' t' take me run out," said Greene, with another hitch.

"Now you fellows break away," said the foreman, for the strikers had turned and were walking with the others.

"Reckon you don't own the sidewalk, do you?" said one of the men, and the foreman was silent.

"Didn't think you'd shake us like this Billy," began the striker. "We intended to take you into the order to-day an' end up with a good big blow-out to-night. It's all right Billy. You go out on your run and when you get in come round to the Pacific an' we'll square you with the boys."

"An' we'll have a bowl together, eh?" said Billy, for the liquor was beginning to make him happy.

The foreman was white with rage, but he was powerless.

"You bet we will, Billy," said the man who had done the talking.

"Hur--what's this, boss?"

"Come along now," urged the foreman, tugging at Billy's arm.

"Never run by a tank," said Billy, setting the air and coming to a dead stall at the open door of a beer saloon. The silent striker had entered the saloon, the other paused in the door, looked back, nodded and asked: "Have something, Billy, b'fore you go?"

"Will I?" cried Billy, as he twisted from the foreman's grasp.

"Police--here--officer!" cried the foreman, and when the copper came he found Billy just swallowing his second straight.

"Here," said the foreman, excitedly, "I want you to arrest these men."

"Better get a warrant first," said one of the strikers coolly. "We simply came in here to have a drink," he explained to the officer.

"Phat's th' row hier, Tony?" asked the policeman.

"Th' ain't no row as I can see," said the bar-keeper, "these gents is 'aving a quiet drink w'en 'ees nibs there pips in an' calls fer a cop."

"This is one of our engineers," explained the foreman, "and I was on the way to the station with him when these strikers took him away."

"Begad, he's a bute," said the officer, folding his arms over his ample stomach and gazing with mirthful curiosity at the b.u.m.

"Now, ye's fellies must not interfere with men as wants to make an honest living--let th' ingineer go t' 'is ingine," and he gave Billy a shove that sent him into the arms of the waiting foreman.

"What's it _to_ you," shouted the angry engine-driver, "who wants to work--who said I wanted t' make a' honest livin'?--Go t' 'ell," and he struck the foreman in the face.

"Here! Here!!" cried the officer, seizing the fighter, "you'll go to work or go to jail," and Billy went away between the copper and the foreman with his wheels sliding.

After much coaxing and cursing by the foreman, who was often asked to come out in the alley and settle it, Billy was loaded into an engine cab. While the foreman was selecting a fireman from the hard-looking herd of applicants sent down from the office of the master-mechanic, the gentle warmth of the boiler-head put Billy to sleep. It was a sound, and apparently dreamless sleep, from which he did not wake the while they rolled him from the engine, loaded him into a hurry-up wagon and carried him away to the cooler.

When he had sobered up Greene went to the round-house and offered his services to the company, but the foreman would not talk to him. Finally Greene became abusive, and the foreman kicked him out of the round-house and across the turntable. From that day Greene was a striker, and a very troublesome one.

CHAPTER EIGHTH

Two weeks had pa.s.sed when the Philosopher met Patsy, now in deep disgrace. Patsy had been expelled from the Brotherhood for aiding a scab. "O! it's nothing," said Patsy.

"That's right. It won't be worth much to belong to the Union when this cruel war is over."

"Only a fellow hates to get the worst of it when he really tries to tote fair."

"The best you can get is the worst of it when you are bound by oath to an organization that is engaged in a hopeless fight. The president offered yesterday to take back seventy-five per cent. of the men, and immediately they said he was running. This morning the offer is for sixty per cent., but they won't have it. Have they offered to balm you with promotion?"

"Yes."

"Varnished cars, eh?"

"Yep--finest train on the road."

"And you told them?--"

"No."

"Well, I think you did right. Shall we go and peck?"

"Have you been working?"

"No. I've been vag'd. When the police got through with me, and returned my pie-card I turned it in for a commutation ticket, and there are still a few feeds to the good on it. The commutation ticket is the proper card for a gentleman in straitened circ.u.mstances. You are not obliged to gorge yourself at early morn with a whole twenty-cent breakfast when all you really need is a cup of black coffee and a roll. Besides, when a man is not working he should not eat so much. I frequently edge in with a crowd of other gentlemen and procure a nice warm lunch at one of the beer saloons, omitting the beer. By the way, the free lunch room is a good place for the study of human nature. There you will see the poor working man fish up his last five cents to pay for a beer in order to get a hot lunch, and if you look closely, spot a two-by-four-shopkeeper, for instance, as he enters the front door, and keep your eye on him until he goes out again, you will observe that he hasn't lost a cent. A little dark man who runs a three-ball in La Salle Street makes a business of this, and of loaning money at fifty per cent. and seems to be doing quite well."

When they had reached a "Kohlsaat" the two men sat down, or up, and when they had finished Patsy paid for the meal.

"If you see a man who has wood to saw or a piano to tune or anything that isn't scabbin' I wish you'd give me a character and get me the job," said the Philosopher when they had reached the sidewalk.

"You follow my smoke," said Patsy, after a moment's meditation, and he strolled down the crowded street, turning and twisting through the mult.i.tude like a man trying to lose a dog, but he couldn't lose the Philosopher. Presently he stepped in front of a big building, waited for his companion, and they went in together.

"Mr. Stonaker," said Patsy when he had been admitted to the general manager's private office, "I have a favor to ask. I want you to give a friend of mine a job. He's a switchman, and a good trainman, but he will not take the place of a striker."

"Can you vouch for his honesty, Patsy?" asked the official.

"I think I can."

"Very well, we want a reliable watchman here in the building; bring your friend in."