Nixon, who had thrown his overcoat across a chair and got out a big black cigar, paused with it halfway to his lips. “Not calling the company for me, are you?” he asked. “Why, yes,” said the superintendent, quietly. “You’ve come about the Bassett business, haven’t you?” Nixon nodded. “Well, Mr. Plumfield is the one with whom Bassett had the trouble. I thought you’d like to hear his story.” “Oh, all right,” said Nixon, sitting down and lighting his cigar. “Only I know the story already.” “Maybe you’ve only heard one side of it,” suggested Mr. Schofield, smiling. “Well, maybe I have,” assented Nixon, and when Mr. Plumfield and Allan entered, he greeted them with a fair degree of cordiality. “And now, Mr. Plumfield,” said the superintendent, when the introductions were over, “I wish you would tell Mr. Nixon exactly what happened between you and Bassett.” So the train master told the story of his encounter with the drunken engineer, while Nixon sat back in his chair puffing his cigar meditatively, and nodding from time to time. “You know, of course,” he said, when Mr. Plumfield had finished, “that Bassett denies he was drunk, and so do the boys who were with him. He admits that he’d had a glass or two of beer, but there’s nothing against that, is there, when a man’s off duty?” “There’s a rule against the use of intoxicants,” replied the superintendent, slowly, “and against a man’s being impudent on duty or off.” “And there’s no prospect of your taking Bassett back?” asked Nixon. “Not the slightest,” answered Mr. Schofield. “I suppose you know what that means?” inquired Nixon, blowing out a puff of smoke and gazing at it with half-closed eyes, as it floated slowly upwards. “What does it mean?” “It means a strike.” “Is the brotherhood as foolish as all that?” “The brotherhood is bound to protect the interests of all its members.” “Even those who don’t deserve it?” “The brotherhood must decide who’s worthy and who’s not. It can’t let outsiders do it.” “Well, all right,” said Mr. Schofield. “It’s up to you. I guess we can get some more engineers.” “Oh, you’ll need more than engineers,” said Nixon, easily. “You’ll need firemen and brakemen and conductors and switchmen—the whole force, in fact.” The superintendent sat staring at his visitor, his brows knitted. “You mean they’ll strike in sympathy?” he asked, at last. “Exactly,” and Nixon smiled blandly. “What kind of fools are railroad men anyhow?” “I’ll tell you how it is,” said Nixon. “Railroad men realize that they’ve got to stand together. You remember those spell-binders who used to go around hollering ‘My country, right or wrong!’ Well, that’s our principle. Besides, the time’s ripe for a strike.” “What do you mean by that?” “I mean there hasn’t been a real strike for some time an’ the boys are ready for a little excitement. You see, we’ve found a better way than strikin’, but not half so interestin’.” “I think I know what you mean,” said Mr. Schofield, slowly.