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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Tell us who put the dynamite on Blackwings." "I shall try," he said, "only let me have time to think what is best to do." "What is right is what is best to do," said Mrs. Cowels, holding out her hand "Good-night." "Good-night," said the prisoner, "come again when you can, both of you."
Now, when he had thought it all over, he surprised his wife as much as she had surprised him. "They're all a lot of unliterate ingrates," said Cowels, "and for two cents I'd shake the whole show and go to work. If they turn me down at the convention, and this strike is not settled, I'll take an engine." Mr. Hawkins gave a low whistle.
She opened the letter and found a note addressed to her and read it: Dear Mrs. Cowels: Although your husband had deserted us, he had not been expelled, but was still a member in good standing at the moment of his death, and therefore legally entitled to the benefits of the order.
I hated George Cowels because he married a woman that was too good fur 'im, she was too good for me, for that matter. Well, when he went back on the Brotherhood and took his old engineer's job I went to this man Moran and offered to blow the engine up, and he put me out of his room.
"Very well," said the man, apparently delighted with his bargain, and he gave her a crisp ten-dollar note. He also gave Bennie a big, red apple, and looked surprised when the boy began to bite great chunks out of it. That evening when Cowels came home he found the house filled with the fumes of boiled beef, and it put him in a good humor at once.
Cowels looked at the man, who still kept his seat on the narrow bed, as though she wished him to speak. "Dan," he began, "I don't believe you put that dynamite on the engine; I have said so, and if I don't prove it I am to be dismissed. That conclusion was reached to-day at a meeting of the directors of the road.
They had left Chicago two hours late, and as they had a clear track, so far as other trains were concerned, the young driver was letting her go regardless of danger. At any moment they might expect to be blown into eternity, and it was just as safe at seventy miles an hour as at seventeen. Besides, George Cowels was desperate. For five long years he had fired this run with the same locomotive.
Cowels: Every day since George's death I have wanted to write you to assure you of my innocence and of my sympathy for you in this the hour of your sorrow. These are dreadful times. Be brave, and believe me Your friend, Dan Moran. This letter, and the information it contained, was as great a surprise to Mrs. Cowels as the news of Cowels's death had been to Moran.
"I was just passing by," said Mr. Hawkins, "and thought I'd stop and see if there was any show to get that room. I work for the plumber in the next block, so you see it would be handy for me." "Would you pay in advance?" asked Mrs. Cowels. "I shouldn't mind," said the plumber, "if it would be of any advantage to you." "Then you can have the room."
One man wanted to know what he got for the job, but the master, feeling secure in that he was doing his duty, gave no heed to what his traducers were saying. Amid all the turmoil Cowels sat so quietly that some of the more suspicious began to guess, audibly, that he was "in with the play." But there was no play, and if there had been Cowels would not have been in with it. Cowels was thinking.
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