When the Philosopher had been informed as to his new duties, and learned that he was to have charge of the entire building, he asked if Patsy had given his history.

"I have vouched for you," said Patsy, a little embarra.s.sed.

The general manager pressed a b.u.t.ton and when the stenographer came in instructed him to take the man's personal record, in accordance with a well-known rule. This information is intended chiefly as a guide to the management in notifying the relatives or friends of an employee in case of accident or death. The manager did the questioning and when the man had given his name and declared that he had no relatives, no home, no friends--except Patsy--the official showed some surprise and asked:

"Where did you work last?"

"In the workhouse."

"When?" queried the general manager, casting a quick glance at Patsy, who was growing nervous.

"'Bout a year ago now."

"At what particular place have you lived or lodged since that time?"

"In jail."

"What were you in jail for?"

"Stealing a meal-ticket, this coat and cap from Patsy."

"I gave the things to him, sir," said Patsy, "and he was discharged."

"Where have you been living since you left the workhouse?"

"In the streets and in the fields."

"Do you drink?"

"No, sir."

"Do you mean to tell me that an experienced yardman, strong and intelligent as you appear to be, can sink so low without being a drunkard?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you have been foreman in the Buffalo yards? What else have you been?"

"A Union man, tramp, b.u.m, vag, thief, and a scab."

"Huh!" said the general manager, pushing out his lips, "is this your notion of a reliable man, Patsy?"

"Yes, sir, I still vouch for him."

The general manager looked puzzled. "But you could hardly expect me to employ, in a responsible position, a self-confessed criminal?"

"And yet," said the Philosopher, "if I had lied to you I might have gained a good place, but having told the truth I suppose I must go."

The general manager, who had left his seat, began to pace the floor.

"It may be possible for an honest man to be a tramp--even a vag, but why did you steal?"

"For the same reason that I took the place of a striker the other day--because I was hungry," said the Philosopher looking the general manager full in the face.

"But what brought you to this condition? that's what I want to know,"

said the official earnestly. "And if you can explain that, you can have the place, provided you really want to reform."

"I'm not so anxious to reform," said the Philosopher. "What I want is a show to earn an honest living, and let the balance of the world reform.

But if you want to know what brought me to my present condition I can tell you--this is the instrument." And the man lifted from the manager's desk a slip of paper, full of names, across the top of which was printed "Black List."

"It's the blight of the black-list that is upon me, sir, and it gives me pleasure to be able to present to you a sample of the cla.s.s of citizens you and your a.s.sociates are turning out," said the Philosopher with much feeling, and he turned to go.

"Stay," said Patsy. "Mr. Stonaker, you told me yesterday that if I ever needed your a.s.sistance in any way to make my wants known."

"And do you still vouch for this man?"

"I do."

"Very well, then--he can have the place!"

CHAPTER NINTH

Mr. Hawkins had been in his new lodgings nearly a week and had frequently discussed the strike with the great labor leader, when he made bold one evening to state that he had no use for the Brotherhood and that he had it from inside sources that a number of the old engineers were going to return to work, and that the strike would soon be a thing of the past, as would the comfortable jobs that the strikers had left.

Cowels, of course, was indignant, but he was interested. Mr. Hawkins had expected as much.

"I'm going out firing myself," he went on, "and I'm promised promotion as soon as I can start and stop. If I had your experience and your ability, generally, I could get the best run on the road with a cinch on a job as M. M. at the first opening. A good man who goes to the company's rescue now won't want for anything. If he's hard up he can get all the money he needs--that is a few hundred at least--advanced to him."

Cowels listened attentively.

Mr. Hawkins lighted a fresh ten-cent cigar and gave one to his landlord.

"Of course, it's different with you," resumed the lodger, "you own your home and have saved your money, perhaps, but a whole lot of the strikers are being pinched and they're going to weaken. They'll be cursed a little bit by the Brotherhood, but the public is dead against the strikers--read the Chicago papers to-day."

"But the papers are owned body and soul by the Burlington," said Cowels.

"Well, what do you fellows own? That only shows which is the winning side. You take my advice and let go while you've got plenty."

"Plenty?" echoed Cowels. "Do you suppose I'd take a stranger into my home--do you think for a minute that I would sit here and let you talk to me as you have done if I could help myself? Plenty! I'm a beggar."

Hawkins knew that, but he expressed surprise. When they had smoked in silence for a while the plumber handed an unsealed letter to his landlord and watched his face closely as he read it.

The letter was from one of the Burlington officials and it stated plainly that the bearer was empowered to make terms with the gentleman addressed looking to his return to the service of the company.

Mr. Cowels was very indignant, at first, but finally consented to discuss the matter. Mr. Hawkins was very cool, explaining that it made no difference with him one way or the other. The official happened to be a personal friend of his and had trusted him with this commission. "If you ask my advice," said the plumber, "I should say take whatever they offer and go to work. No man can hold out against such odds for any great length of time; sooner or later you will be as hard up as the rest, your wife will be in need of the actual necessaries of life, your children will be crying for food, and how can you answer them if you let this opportunity pa.s.s? To-morrow, I am told, is to be the last day of grace, so you might better heel yourself and let the Brotherhood walk the floor for a while. The probabilities are that the strike will simply be declared off, the old employees to be taken back only as their services are required, and as new men. Every day that pa.s.ses adds to the strength of the company. Labor organizations, like bands of Indians, are ever at each other's throats. When the Knights of Labor struck on the Reading those haughty aristocrats of the working world, the Engineers'