o
further part in the proceedings. Work had been suspended during the day,
for such was the need of old and trusted hands in the passenger stations
and on the abandoned switch-engines that other foremen besides stern old
Wallace had been called away, and these were stalwarts to whom the
strikers had appealed in vain. Struck between the eyes by a coupling-pin
while handling the lever of a switch-engine an hour before, Mr. Ainslie,
the master-mechanic of the Air Line, had just been borne by in an
ambulance: and Wallace, looking even older, sadder, sterner, than he did
at dawn, bore down upon the muttering shamefaced group as he returned
for his coat, hanging there on its accustomed peg in the darkening
shops. Something of the smouldering fire in his eyes seemed to overawe
them, for they gave way in sullen silence, many of them turning to avoid
the glower of the old Scotchman's gaze, and let him by without a word.
There were those among them who earlier in the day could have cried him
shame for his blunt refusal to either strike or sympathize. Stoltz, who
called upon him with fiery words and fierce gesticulation at ten
o'clock, had been told to go and stay. At one, when men were needed to
man the engines, he had sent word to Jim to come and take his place in a
cab and handle the lever like a man, or keep out of his sight till he
could behave like one: and as no Jim came, the father himself manned the
throttle of the first engine to force a way to the yards, just in time
to see his beloved son shot down, apparently by the senseless folly of a
deputy trained neither to aim nor to endure. His heart was hot against
the leaders who had brought this madness on the men he had known and
almost swayed for years, and he could not refrain from harsh invective
now. Halting short, he turned upon the sullen group.

"Are you satisfied with your work now, you blind, misguided fools? Have
you gained one point? You've struck down--killed, perhaps--the best man
that ever handled a wrench in these shops. You've stoned my flesh and
blood. Why don't you mob me? I would have run that engine back until
every track was clear had I had my way. Why don't you mob me? I begged
Mr. Williams to let me go and fetch away those trains, car by car, if
need be. Why don't you mob me, I say? Your advisers are frauds, and you
are fools or worse. Look there at your doing!" he cried, pointing to the
heaping wreck up the long lines of rail.

They would not answer