"Then I don't work. Th' Brotherhood 'll pay me four dollars a day to sit right here and keep three gages an' a flutter in the stack--go on with yer damn ol' railroad--" "Come now, Billy," pleaded the foreman, "this is an opportunity--" "Billy! Month ago Stonaker's nigger threw me down the steps." "Give 'm a drink," said the foreman, and the bar-keeper set out two glasses 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 glasses 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 glass 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 passing three or four of them when they were met by a couple of strikers. "Hello 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."