But the strike had not tied up the road as he had hoped it would. Conductors and brakemen had refused to go out without instructions from headquarters; switchmen and operators had not even asked for such instructions. And trains were running regularly, manned by a lot of new men who seemed fairly efficient. If the strike had started out with a mistake, Simpson was resolved that no others should be committed—especially not the fatal mistake of violence. And so he was taking care to establish himself in the liking and confidence of the older and more conservative men. If it came to a fight, he must be certain of his backing. Over at the freight-house, the new men had got settled in their quarters and seemed fairly contented with them. If truth were told, sordid and unattractive as the surroundings were, most of the men had been accustomed to much worse. The food, too, however carelessly served, was at least clean and wholesome, and only a person unused to anything but china and snowy linen would have quarrelled with the tin dishes and oil-cloth covered tables. It was evident that the principal source of disturbance had been removed when Hummel had been compelled to leave the place; and yet there was no telling when a second Hummel might arise and leaven the entire group of men with discontent. Indeed, it was evident that many of them were not wholly at ease. In the midst of these unusually comfortable surroundings, they perhaps felt the same sense of disquiet which Jean Valjean felt in the Bishop’s bed; they were accustomed to a plank and could not sleep well upon springs and a mattress; but this was not the sort of disquiet which would lead to any serious results. And yet Reddy, who kept a keener eye than ever upon events in Stanley’s absence, was not altogether satisfied. Indeed, Stanley’s absence of itself puzzled him. Orders had been given that the adventure of the abandoned train was to be kept quiet as long as possible, and no word concerning it had been breathed inside the freight-house. So, as the day wore on, Reddy grew more and more uneasy, especially when he noted that Allan was also away. He suspected that something was wrong somewhere, and it annoyed him that he should be shut up like this, away from all communication with his fellow creatures. Certainly, he did not consider the cook a fellow creature, and, in spite of himself, he could not help feeling a sort of pitying contempt for the strike-breakers. For Reddy was honest, was industrious, was temperate, and he felt that few of the strike-breakers were any of these things. “An’ a fine figger you cut here, don’t you,” he went on, following this train of thought, “washin’ dishes an’ makin’ beds an’ waitin’ on table, like a saloon loafer, instead o’ doin’ an honest man’s work! I’m goin’ t’ throw up the job. I ain’t doin’ no good here. These fellers are as contented as a lot o’ hogs in the sunshine. I’ll jest tell Allan—”