Part 3 (1/2)
He tossed the baby the higher; he looked the happier; he shouted the louder.
”The deuce it is! Well, son, I'm mighty glad of it.” And I certainly was glad.
In fact, mighty glad, as Foley expressed it, when we pulled up at the depot, and I saw Andy Cameron with a wicked look pus.h.i.+ng to the front through the threatening crowd. With an ugly growl he made for Foley.
”I've got business with you--you--”
”I've got a little with you, son,” retorted Foley, stepping leisurely down from the cab. ”I struck a buggy back here at the first cut, and I hear it was yours.” Cameron's eyes began to bulge. ”I guess the outfit's damaged some--all but the boy. Here, kid,” he added, turning for me to hand him the child, ”here's your dad.”
The instant the youngster caught sight of his parent he set up a yell.
Foley, laughing, pa.s.sed him into his astonished father's arms before the latter could say a word. Just then a boy, running and squeezing through the crowd, cried to Cameron that his horse had run away from the house with the baby in the buggy, and that Mrs. Cameron was having a fit.
Cameron stood like one daft--and the boy catching sight of the baby that instant panted and stared in an idiotic state.
”Andy,” said I, getting down and laying a hand on his shoulder, ”if these fellows want to kill this man, let them do it alone--you'd better keep out. Only this minute he has saved your boy's life.”
The sweat stood out on the big engineer's forehead like dew. I told the story. Cameron tried to speak; but he tried again and again before he could find his voice.
”Mate,” he stammered, ”you've been through a strike yourself--you know what it means, don't you? But if you've got a baby--” he gripped the boy tighter to his shoulder.
”I have, partner; three of 'em.”
”Then you know what this means,” said Andy, huskily, putting out his hand to Foley. He gripped the little man's fist hard, and, turning, walked away through the crowd.
Somehow it put a damper on the boys. Bat Nicholson was about the only man left who looked as if he wanted to eat somebody; and Foley, slinging his blouse over his shoulder, walked up to Bat and tapped him on the shoulder.
”Stranger,” said he, gently, ”could you oblige me with a chew of tobacco?”
Bat glared at him an instant; but Foley's nerve won.
Flus.h.i.+ng a bit, Bat stuck his hand into his pocket; took it out; felt hurriedly in the other pocket, and, with some confusion, acknowledged he was short. Felix Kennedy intervened with a slab, and the three men fell at once to talking about the accident.
A long time afterwards some of the striking engineers were taken back, but none of those who had been guilty of actual violence. This barred Andy Cameron, who, though not worse than many others, had been less prudent; and while we all felt sorry for him after the other boys had gone to work, Lancaster repeatedly and positively refused to reinstate him.
Several times, though, I saw Foley and Cameron in confab, and one day up came Foley to the superintendent's office, leading little Andy, in his overalls, by the hand. They went into Lancaster's office together, and the door was shut a long time.
When they came out little Andy had a piece of paper in his hand.
”Hang on to it, son,” cautioned Foley; ”but you can show it to Mr. Reed if you want to.”
The youngster handed me the paper. It was an order directing Andrew Cameron to report to the master-mechanic for service in the morning.
I happened over at the round-house one day nearly a year later, when Foley was showing Cameron a new engine, just in from the East. The two men were become great cronies; that day they fell to talking over the strike.
”There was never but one thing I really laid up against this man,” said Cameron to me.
”What's that?” asked Foley.