e was not. He
was a sort of butt for the free and easy men who lived in their cabs and
cabooses, obeyed their "orders," and owned nothing but their overalls
and their shiny Sunday clothes. He was good-tempered, though. Took all
their gibes and "dev'ling" quietly, and for the most part silently. So,
few actually disliked him. Dick Rail, the engineer of his crew, was
one of those few. Dick "dee-spised" him. Dick was big, brawny, coarse:
coarse in looks, coarse in talk, coarse every way, and when he had
liquor in him he was mean. Jim "bothered" him, he said. He made Jim's
life a burden to him. He laid himself out to do it. It became his
occupation. He thought about it when Jim was not present; laid plans for
it. There was something about Jim that was different from most others.
When Jim did not laugh at a "hard story," but just sat still, some men
would stop; Dick always told another harder yet, and called attention
to Jim's looks. His stock was inexhaustible. His mind was like a spring
which ran muddy water; its flow was perpetual. The men thought Jim did
not mind. He lost three pounds; which for a man who was six feet (and
would have been six feet two if he had been straight) and who weighed
122, was considerable.

It is astonishing how one man can create a public sentiment. One woman
can ruin a reputation as effectually as a churchful. One bullet can kill
a man as dead as a bushel, if it hits him right. So Dick Rail injured
Jim. For Dick was an authority. He swore the biggest oaths, wore the
largest watch-chain, knew his engine better and sat it steadier than any
man on the road. He had had a passenger train again and again, but he
was too fond of whiskey. It was too risky. Dick affected Jim's standing:
told stories about him: made his life a burden to him. "He shan't stay
on the road," he used to say.

"He's stingier'n ------! Carries his victuals about with him--I b'lieve
he sleeps with one o' them Italians in a goods box." This was true--at
least, about carrying his food with him. (The rest was Dick's humor.)
Messing cost too much. The first two months' pay went to settle an old
guano-bill; but the third month's pay was Jim's. The day he drew that he
fattened a good deal. At least, he looked so. It was eighty-two dollars
(for Jim ran extra runs;--made double time whenever he could). Jim had
never had so much money in his life; had hardly ever seen it. He walked
about the streets that night till nearly midnight, feel