“For pity’s sake, By!” he demanded, as he aided the old engineer away from the center of the mêlée, “why didn’t you come around the other way?” “I didn’t want to see that blamed supervisor again,” gasped the engineer, wiping the blood from his scratched face. Then he held a hand tightly upon his heart as though to still it. He was very pale, save for crimson spots beneath his cheekbones. “I’d rather fight these rats than talk to Hopkins.” “Be a man!” exclaimed Ralph. “Don’t let that man scare you.” “He’s no easy man to meet,” returned the old engineer. “He can put the gaff into you, if he likes.” “The Brotherhood is behind you. Tell him where he gets off. The road is short of engineers. He won’t dare tie the can to you. You know that.” “Don’t talk! Don’t talk, Ralph!” whispered the engineer. “I know what is threatening me better than you do. I’m growing old. And I can’t afford to drop out on a pittance.” “Why, you must have something, Byron,” said the train dispatcher. “After all these years at a good wage——” “Nothing. Just a little home. And that mortgaged. Sickness in the family and an invalid child has taken all I could make. Death in a wreck, or the like, is the only good thing that could come to me.” “My gracious! Don’t talk like that.” “It is true. I carry a big accident policy. If I’m killed my family is well fixed. If I get canned, we’ll starve. That’s about the size of it,” and the old man walked away, leaving Ralph with a lump in his throat. “And I’ve been blaming this old fellow for not pulling out and letting some younger man have his run,” thought the young train dispatcher bitterly. “We never know! Old Byron deserves pity, not blame. A long life gone, and nothing much to show for it. Well!” The rabble was driven back and broken up by the police. Two or three rioters were arrested. And that, as Ralph knew, did more harm than good. Every strike sympathizer that was arrested made a whole family sore at the railroad. The strikers themselves were sharp enough to keep away from the scene of trouble. The big eight-wheeler was being rolled out of the roundhouse as Ralph turned back toward the brick station. He saw By Marks, his face washed of blood, and now in a clean overall suit, sitting on the bench in the driver’s side of the cabin, as the huge locomotive wheeled across the turntable. “Good luck to you, old man!” cried Ralph, and waved his hand to the grave-faced engineer. Afterward Ralph was glad he had given Byron this hail. The long train of varnished cars had been standing under the train shed for half an hour. The train on the other road rolled in at the far end of the station and the passengers piled out and joined those already occupying their staterooms or berths in the coaches of the Midnight Flyer.