“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——”