"Keep a steady gait," the foreman had said."Don't stop for any one who doesn't look like a real passenger.Whatever you do, don't stop for a crowd."
The two officers kept silent for a few moments.
"The last man must have gone through all right," said the officer on the left."I don't see his car anywhere."
"Who's on there?" asked the second officer, referring, of course, to its complement of policemen.
"Schaeffer and Ryan."
There was another silence, in which the car ran smoothly along.
There were not so many houses along this part of the way.
Hurstwood did not see many people either.The situation was not wholly disagreeable to him.If he were not so cold, he thought he would do well enough.
He was brought out of this feeling by the sudden appearance of a curve ahead, which he had not expected.He shut off the current and did an energetic turn at the brake, but not in time to avoid an unnaturally quick turn.It shook him up and made him feel like making some apologetic remarks, but he refrained.
"You want to look out for them things," said the officer on the left, condescendingly.
"That's right," agreed Hurstwood, shamefacedly.
"There's lots of them on this line," said the officer on the right.
Around the corner a more populated way appeared.One or two pedestrians were in view ahead.A boy coming out of a gate with a tin milk bucket gave Hurstwood his first objectionable greeting.
"Scab!" he yelled."Scab!"
Hurstwood heard it, but tried to make no comment, even to himself.He knew he would get that, and much more of the same sort, probably.
At a corner farther up a man stood by the track and signalled the car to stop.
"Never mind him," said one of the officers."He's up to some game."
Hurstwood obeyed.At the corner he saw the wisdom of it.No sooner did the man perceive the intention to ignore him, than he shook his fist.