“No,” he went on, “there’s nothing to be done with the men.  Do you know what would happen if I was to go up to their lodge and tell right out that Grady was a blackmailer?  Why, after they’d got through with me, personally, they’d pass a resolution vindicating Grady.  They’d resolve that I was a thief and a liar and a murderer and an oppressor of the poor and a traitor, and if they could think of anything more than that, they’d put it in, too.  And after vindicating Grady to their satisfaction, they’d take his word for law and the gospel more than ever.  In this sort of a scrape you want to hit as high as you can, strike the biggest man who will let you in his office.  It’s the small fry that make the trouble.  I guess that’s true ’most everywhere.  I know the general manager of a railroad is always an easier chap to get on with than the division superintendent.”

“Well,” said Pete, after waiting a moment to see if Bannon had any definite suggestion to make as to the best way to deal with Grady, “I’m glad you don’t think he’ll try to tie us up tonight.  Maybe we’ll think of something tomorrow.  I’ve got to get back on the job.”

“I’ll go up with you,” said Max, promptly.  Then, in answer to Hilda’s gesture of protest, “You don’t want to climb away up there tonight.  I’ll be back in ten minutes,” and he was gone before she could reply.  “I guess I can take care of you till he comes back,” said Bannon.  Hilda made no answer.  She seemed to think that silence would conceal her annoyance better than anything she could say.  So, after waiting a moment, Bannon went on talking.

“I suppose that’s the reason why I get ugly sometimes and call names; because I ain’t a big enough man not to.  If I was getting twenty-five thousand a year maybe I’d be as smooth as anybody.  I’d like to be a general manager for a while, just to see how it would work.”

“I don’t see how anybody could ever know enough to run a railroad.”  Hilda was looking up at the C. & S. C. right of way, where red and white semaphore lights were winking.

“I was offered that job once myself, though, and turned it down,” said Bannon.  “I was superintendent of the electric light plant at Yawger.  Yawger’s quite a place, on a branch of the G.T.  There was another road ran through the town, called the Bemis, Yawger and Pacific.  It went from Bemis to Stiles Corners, a place about six miles west of Yawger.  It didn’t get any nearer the Pacific than that.  Nobody in Yawger ever went to Bemis or Stiles, and there wasn’t anybody in Bemis and Stiles to come to Yawger, or if they did come they never went back, so the road didn’t do a great deal of business.  They assessed the stock every year to pay the officers’ salaries—­and they had a full line of officers, too—­but the rest of the road had to scrub along the best it could.

“When they elected me alderman from the first ward up at Yawger, I found out that the B.Y.&P. owed the city four hundred and thirty dollars, so I tried to find out why they wasn’t made to pay.  It seemed that the city had had a judgment against them for years, but they couldn’t get hold of anything that was worth seizing.  They all laughed at me when I said I meant to get that money out of ’em.