THE STRIKE
The barn at which Hurstwood applied was exceedingly short-handed, and was being operated practically by three men as directors.
There were a lot of green hands around--queer, hungry-looking men, who looked as if want had driven them to desperate means.
They tried to be lively and willing, but there was an air of hang-dog diffidence about the place.
Hurstwood went back through the barns and out into a large, enclosed lot, where were a series of tracks and loops.A half-
dozen cars were there, manned by instructors, each with a pupil at the lever.More pupils were waiting at one of the rear doors of the barn.
In silence Hurstwood viewed this scene, and waited.His companions took his eye for a while, though they did not interest him much more than the cars.They were an uncomfortable-looking gang, however.One or two were very thin and lean.Several were quite stout.Several others were rawboned and sallow, as if they had been beaten upon by all sorts of rough weather.
"Did you see by the paper they are going to call out the militia?" Hurstwood heard one of them remark.
"Oh, they'll do that," returned the other."They always do."
"Think we're liable to have much trouble?" said another, whom Hurstwood did not see.
"Not very."
"That Scotchman that went out on the last car," put in a voice, "told me that they hit him in the ear with a cinder."
A small, nervous laugh accompanied this.
"One of those fellows on the Fifth Avenue line must have had a hell of a time, according to the papers," drawled another."They broke his car windows and pulled him off into the street 'fore the police could stop 'em."
"Yes; but there are more police around to-day," was added by another.
Hurstwood hearkened without much mental comment.These talkers seemed scared to him.Their gabbling was feverish--things said to quiet their own minds.He looked out into the yard and waited.
Two of the men got around quite near him, but behind his back.
They were rather social, and he listened to what they said.
"Are you a railroad man?" said one.