ear, so he speeds up Charley with slaps of the reins, and after
unhitching at the terminal chases him up the incline and into the stall
with a stick. "Never let me see you staggering or sitting down on the
job," he warns in kindly caution, so that Charley may save himself some
of the beatings.

With a smolder in his eyes and drumbeat in his bony little breast Tim
sits on his pallet below a lantern hung to a beam, listening whilst the
old building rolls and pitches to the passing trains and loose shingles
hoot in the blast above. And 't is worthy of note that spiders swing
down from cobwebbed rafters to glare at him with interest as a comrade
weaving a web of his own; and the mice do not come out at present, but
scurry all to set their nests in order and be ready for the part they
are to play in the history of Tim the messenger. 'T is little we know.

In a few days Tim has made a study of the Suburban's affairs; six or
seven of the lime burners ride with him on weekdays, and also Katy
O'Hare; but on Sunday he has no passengers, the kiln being closed down
so that the burners may convalesce from riding on the Suburban, and Katy
choosing to walk along the path by the rosebush with sidelong glance and
blush lest the elegant young gentleman with whom she is not acquainted
be on the car platform. In the evening Tim dines at the lunch wagon
across the track for a dime, and morning and noon munches a loaf with
indignation of Charley, who draws a hatful of oats three times a day.

But soon after he has cut the ration to two hatfuls Charley sits down on
the track, indifferent to the gadfly and all the beatings, till they
compromise on two and a half hatfuls, Tim rubbing his scar with
remembrance.

"Sure, the horse is like I used to be with my old man; when I was hungry
I was afraid of being starved and kicked; but after I had been starved
and kicked I was not afraid of going hungry or of the old man either."

'T is live and let live we must, so he feeds Charley just little enough
to keep him afraid of getting still less, which is the secret of all
contented relations between employer and employed, y' understand.

Only a short time afterward Tim raises the car fare to ten cents,
recking little of the lime burners' wrath and the high glances of Katy
O'Hare at the hard little face and hunched ragged body as he drives on,
clenching the reins in his fists. Divil a bit does he seek their
goodwill or anybody's, knowing that there is