He started on a staggering run back to the crossing. He was aware that a crowd was gathering, seemingly by magic, on both sides of the crossing. From the south appeared a tall figure that burst through the narrow opening at the end of the gate and started for the endangered automobile. Fire flew from the brakeshoes of the train and the grind and hiss of the iron threatened flat tires on more than one wheel. Ralph, the breath sobbing in his throat, continued to stumble on over the cinder path. The tall figure he knew was that of Mr. Barton Hopkins. The supervisor had chanced to come along just in season to see the danger of his wife and daughter. But Ralph knew well enough that the man—no more than Ralph himself—could do nothing to aid the victims of this threatened disaster. CHAPTER X THE NIGHT OF THE STRIKE The locomotive stopped—and there was no crash such as Ralph had expected. He was only a few yards behind the high step of the great machine down which the fireman swung himself. “What’s the matter with those boobs?” demanded the latter. “Blocking the road like this—huh! Wait till the super gets wise to it. He’s got just what it costs to stop a train figgered out into cents and mills.” Ralph grabbed him by the shoulder and shot into his ear: “Muffle down, Haney! That’s the super himself there, and it is his wife and girl in the car.” “Great Glory and Jerusalem!” gasped the fireman. “Thanks, Fairbanks. He’ll be as sore as a boil over this. And it’s a wonder that we didn’t smash the thing to splinters, for our brakes don’t work any too well. The old mill ought to be in the shops right now.” The fireman slipped back to warn the engineer. Ralph went on to the crossing. Mrs. Hopkins and Cherry had now got out of the runabout. The girl was actually keeping the woman from falling, the latter was so much overcome. But Cherry flashed Ralph an illuminating look. Her eyes were like stars. The supervisor knew exactly what to do in the emergency. Already he had ordered the gate raised and had beckoned to some idlers to come and lift the car. He did not take hold himself, but he ordered them what to do. In fact, Ralph helped lift the runabout over the tracks and out onto Hammerby Street. “That will do, men. Thanks,” said Mr. Hopkins coldly. He turned to his daughter. “How did it happen? Your wheels are deflated.” “I don’t know. I did not understand what had happened until we were on the crossing, Papa,” Cherry replied. “Somebody must have done it when the car was standing before the store,” said Mrs. Hopkins. “Thank you, Ralph Fairbanks!” whispered Cherry, suddenly seizing the young fellow’s hand. Hopkins wheeled and stared coldly at Ralph. “Just what has Mr. Fairbanks done to be thanked for, Cherry?” the supervisor asked. “He stopped the train, Papa,” declared the girl firmly.