nother survey of the ground in short order: run a new line, as Foley
would have said. The upshot of it was that McNeal was assigned to an
engine straightway.

As luck would have it, Neighbor put the boy on the 244 with Dad
Hamilton; and Dad proceeded at once to make what Foley termed "a great
roar."

"What's the matter?" demanded Neighbor, roughly, when the old fireman
complained.

"If you're goin' to pull these trains with boys I guess it's time for me
to quit; I'm gettin' pretty old, anyhow."

"What's the matter?" growled Neighbor, still surlier, knowing full well
that if the old fellow had a good reason he would have blurted it out at
the start.

"Nothin's the matter; only I'd like my time."

"You won't get it," said Neighbor, roughly. "Go back on your run. If
McNeal don't behave, report him to me, and he'll get his time."

It was a favorite trick of Neighbor's. Whenever the old fireman got to
"bucking" about his engineer, the master-mechanic threatened to
discharge the engineer. That settled it; Dad Hamilton wouldn't for the
world be the cause of throwing another man out of a job, no matter how
little he liked him.

The old fellow went back to work mollified; but it was evident that he
and McNeal didn't half get on together. The boy was not much of a
talker; yet he did his work well; and Neighbor said, next to Foley, he
was the best man we had.

"What's the reason Hamilton and McNeal can't hit it off, Foley?" I asked
one night.

"They'll get along all right after a while," predicted Foley. "You know
the old man's stubborn as a dun mule, ain't he? The injectors bother
Georgie some; they did me. He'll get used to things. But Dad thinks he's
green--that's what's the matter. The kid is high-spirited, and seeing
the old man's kind of got it in for him he won't ask him anything. Dad's
sore about that, too. Georgie won't knuckle to anybody that don't treat
him right."

"You'd better tell McNeal to humor the old crank," I suggested; and I
believe Foley did so, but it didn't do any good. Sometimes those things
have to work themselves out without outside help. In the end this thing
did, but in a way none of us looked for.

About a week later Foley came into the office one morning very much
excited.

"Did you hear about the boy's getting pounded last night--Georgie
McNeal? It's a shame the way these fellows act. Three of the strikers
piled on him while he was going into the post-office, and thumped the
life