“My chance to get a good thing will come again,” Ralph had told Mrs. Fairbanks. “And really, I am my own boss here. Even Barton Hopkins can’t tell _me_ where to get off.” For divisional supervisor Hopkins had soon become very much disliked. He was a good railroader—no doubt of that. But he should have been a drill-master in a military school rather than the head of a division of a railroad at a time when almost every railroad employee felt that he had been whipsawed between the Government and his employing railroad. Hopkins lacked tact; he saw nothing but the job and what he could make of it. His god was discipline! He was upright and honest, but, as the saying goes, he bent over backwards when he stood erect. And Ralph Fairbanks was pretty thoroughly convinced that grave trouble was brewing because of Mr. Hopkins’ methods. Just at this moment, however, it was Cherry Hopkins in whose affairs the young dispatcher was deeply interested. As she tried to wipe the stains from her skirt and “sniffled” back her tears, Ralph approached slowly. “Now, Miss Cherry,” he begged, “don’t cry about it. If I could have caught that fellow I would have handed him over to one of the road’s policemen. It didn’t really hurt you——” “I’m just as mad, Ralph Fairbanks, as I can be!” interrupted the girl, with heat. “And it is always the way wherever we go. The railroad men seem to hate us all.” “Indeed?” rejoined Ralph thoughtfully. “Have you been troubled in Rockton before this?” “Of course I have. And mother, too. We have been followed on the street, and booed and hissed. Father doesn’t mind——” “I am quite sure he has not reported it to the chief detective of the road, Mr. Bob Adair.” “Father would not report such a thing. He considers it beneath notice.” “I’ll say that cabbage was not beneath notice!” cried Ralph. “If it had hit you—well! Come along, Miss Cherry. Let me see you home.” “Oh, I don’t want to trouble you, Mr. Fairbanks.” “You know I live in your direction,” said Ralph, pleasantly. “We’ll walk along together. And you tell me, Miss Cherry, who these fellows are who have insulted your mother and you.” “Oh, dear me, how do I know who they are?” cried the girl, despairingly. “They are low fellows, of course. And many of them are just boys—loafers. They do not even work for the Great Northern.” “But their fathers and brothers do, I suppose?” ruminated Ralph. “I suppose so. You see, we have to cross the railroad to do our shopping. When we come into this district, if there is a group of idlers hanging around they are almost sure to call after us. It is not pleasant.” “It should be reported. But, of course, it is your father’s business,” said Ralph thoughtfully. “I might speak to Mr. Adair. He is a friend of mine. But unless Mr. Hopkins sanctioned any move against the rowdies, I am afraid——” “I wish you would come in and talk to father about it,” Cherry cried eagerly. “He might listen to _you_.”