lid for an even month, now, and never batting an eye when these railroad
fellows come at you and make their little roar about the overcharges.
Believe me, it takes nerve to do that--and carry it off as if you were
reading 'em a verse out o' the Bible. Blaisdell, the lad who was here
before you, went batty and talked in his sleep. Told me once he couldn't
see anything but stripes, any way he looked."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, with a sudden sinking
of the heart. "Why should it take nerve to tell a railroad agent he's
been overcharging us?"

Peters's laugh was a cackle. "You're the traffic man of this outfit: do
you know the rates on coal from the mines to Western Central common
points?"

"Of course I do."

"Got 'em all down in the printed tariff, so you can't help knowing 'em,
eh? Consolidated Coal pays these rates, doesn't it?--all according to
Hoyle and the Interstate Commerce laws?"

"I suppose we pay them. I check the bills as they are presented."

"Exactly. But every little so-while you have to make a whaling big claim
on the railroad company for overcharges, and maybe you've noticed that
these claims are always paid--or maybe you haven't?"

I was beginning to see the hole in the millstone.

"I make the claims on the weights as you give them to me, Peters. Do you
mean to tell me that you've been giving me false figures?"

The yard clerk stuck his tongue in his cheek. "I'm not telling you
anything. You know as well as I do that it's against the law to give or
receive rebates. But if you're not a heap greener than you look, you
know that we're getting our cut rates, just the same. All we need is a
man right here at your desk who has the nerve to make out the claims, and
is fly enough to do a little bluffing and ask no questions. You're all
right, Bertie."

"But the figures of the weights," I insisted. "You are the man who gives
them to me, and you are responsible if they are wrong."

"Not in a thousand years!" was the prompt retort. "I never put anything
on paper--you're the man that does that--and if the Interstate Commerce
people should break in, I'd have the best little forgettery of any
clock-watcher in the works. Nix for me, Weyburn; you are the chap with
the figures, and the only man in the shop who has them down in black on
white. When the roar comes, it'll be up to you, and Mullins will throw
up his hands and accuse you of having a private graft of some sort