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Updated: June 9, 2025
They go back some day, so many tollars, every day for work. No more," shaking his head in negation, "No, no more, b'gosh." Elizabeth grew anxious. She seized Mr. Ratowsky's coat sleeve. "But, Joe, tell me truly, is my father in danger? They won't hurt him?" "B'gosh, no. He safe like anything. They no mad like the tivil at him. Emery they mad at." "Is Mr. Emery there?" Again Joe shook his head.
He had picked up the steam-register and was holding it in his hand. It was what he called the boiler-clock. It had been hurled a great distance but yet remained whole. Mr. Hobart took it from Joe's hand to examine it. He had given little credence to Ratowsky's words. He whistled softly to himself as he examined the register. He began to believe the Pole right.
Hobart to go away somewhere for a time, until the discontent passed. But Mr. Hobart was not one to leave his work because a man of Dennis O'Day's stamp saw fit to disapprove of him. If there was trouble brewing, there was all the more reason for him to stand at his post. He laughed at Ratowsky's fears, and encouraged him to think that half the discontent among the men was of his own imagination.
An empty store-room had been fitted up with chairs and tables and a supply of books and magazines. Here the boys had the liberty of coming to smoke and talk together while Joe Ratowsky served coffee and sandwiches cheaper than O'Day could sell beer. It was not Ratowsky's doings. There was some one else behind the scenes who provided the brains and money to keep the business moving.
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