Brandon of the Engineers

Business was left; but it needed money, and if he tried to enter it as a

clerk, he must first obtain smart clothes and find somebody to certify

his ability and character, which was impossible. It looked as if he must

be content with manual labor. The wages it commanded were not low and he

was physically strong, but he shrank from the lives the lower ranks of

toilers led when their work was done. The crowded bunk-house and squalid

tenement revolted him. Still, he was young and optimistic; his luck might

change when he went South and chance give him an opportunity of breaking

through the barriers that shut him in. He sat in the corner, pondering,

until it got late and the tired Italian politely turned him out.

Next morning he joined a group of waiting men at the railroad station.

They had a dejected look as they sat upon their bundles outside the

agent's office, except for three or four who were cheerfully drunk. Their

clothes were shabby and of different kinds, for some wore cheap

store-suits and some work-stained overalls. It was obvious that adversity

had brought them together, and Dick did not think they would make amiable

companions. About half appeared to be Americans, but he could not

determine the nationality of the rest, who grumbled in uncouth English

with different accents.

By and by the clerk whom Dick had met came out of the office with a

bundle of tickets, which he distributed, and soon afterwards the train

rolled into the depot. Dick was not pleased to find that a car had been

reserved for the party, since he would sooner have traveled with the

ordinary passengers. Indeed, when a dispute began as the train moved

slowly through the wet street, he left the car. In passing through the

next, he met the conductor, who asked for his ticket, and after tearing

off a section of the long paper, gave him a card, which he gruffly

ordered him to stick in his hat. Then he put his hand on Dick's shoulder,

and pushed him back through the vestibule.

"That's your car behind and you'll stop right there," he said. "Next time

you come out we'll put you off the train."

Dick resigned himself, but stopped on the front platform and looked back

as the train jolted across a rattling bridge. A wide, yellow river ran

beneath it, and the tall factories and rows of dingy houses were fading

in the rain and smoke on the other side. Dick watched them until they

grew indistinct, and then his heart felt lighter. He had endured much in

the grimy town; but all that was over. After confronting, with

instinctive shrinking, industry's grimmest aspect, he was traveling

toward the light and glamour of the South.

Entering the smoking compartment, he found the disturbance had subsided,

and presently fell into talk with a man on the opposite seat who asked

for some tobacco. He told Dick he was a locomotive fireman, but had got

into trouble, the nature of which he did not disclose. Dick never learned

much more about his past than this, but their acquaintance ripened and

Kemp proved a useful friend.