Run To Seed | Page 5

President.
It was a hard life: harder than most. The work was hard; the fare was
hard; the life was hard. Standing on top of rattling cars as they rushed
along in the night around curves, over bridges, through tunnels, with
the rain and snow pelting in your face, and the tops as slippery as ice.
There was excitement about it, too: a sense of risk and danger. Jim did
not mind it much. He thought of his mother and Kitty.
There was a freemasonry among the men. All knew each other; hated

or liked each other; nothing negative about it.
It was a bad road. Worse than the average. Twice the amount of traffic
was done on the single track that should have been done. Result was
men were ground up--more than on most roads. More men were killed
in proportion to the number employed than were killed in service
during the war. The esprit de corps was strong. Men stood by their
trains and by each other. When a man left his engine in sight of trouble,
the authorities might not know about it, but the men did. Unless there
was cause he had to leave. Sam Wray left his engine in sight of a
broken bridge after he reversed. The engine stopped on the track. The
officers never knew of it; but Wray and his fireman both changed to
another road. When a man even got shaky and began to run easy, the
superintendent might not mind it; but the men did: he had to go. A man
had to have not only courage but nerve.
Jim was not especially popular among men. He was reserved, slow,
awkward. He was "pious" (that is, did not swear). He was "stuck up"
(did not tell "funny things," by which was meant vulgar stories; nor
laugh at them either). And according to Dick Rail, he was "stingy as
h--l."
These things were not calculated to make him popular, and he 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, feeling the
wad of notes in his breast-pocket. Next day a box went down the
country,