“None whatever.”

Ormsby dashed off a brief message to Kent, giving three or four addresses at which he might be found.

“Send that, and have them try the Union Station train platform first.  Don’t let them spare expense at the other end, and if you can bring proof of delivery to Room 261 within half an hour, it means a month’s pay to you, individually.  Can you do it?”

But the operator was already claiming the wire, writing “deth,” “deth,” “deth,” as rapidly as his fingers could shake off the dots and dashes.

XXVII

BY ORDER OF THE COURT

Between the hours of eight-thirty and ten P.M. the Union Passenger Station at the capital presents a moving and spirited spectacle.  Within the hour and a half, four through and three local trains are due to leave, and the space within the iron grille that fences off the track platforms from the public part of the station is filled with hurrying throngs of train-takers.

Down at the outer end of the train-shed the stuttering pop-valves of the locomotives, the thunderous trundling of the heavy baggage trucks, and the shrill, monotonous chant of the express messengers checking in their cargoes, lift a din harmonious to the seasoned traveler; a medley softened and distance-diminished for those that crowd upon the gate-keepers at the iron grille.

It was the evening of the last day in the month; the day when the Federative Council of Railway Workers had sent its ultimatum to Receiver Guilford.  The reduction in wages was to go into effect at midnight:  if, by midnight, the order had not been rescinded, and the way opened for a joint conference touching the removal of certain obnoxious officials, a general strike and tie-up would be ordered.  Trains in transit carrying passengers or United States mail would be run to their respective destinations; trains carrying perishable freight would be run to division stations:  with these exceptions all labor would cease promptly on the stroke of twelve.

Such was the text of the ultimatum, a certified copy of which Engineer Scott had delivered in person into the hands of the receiver at noon.

It was now eight forty-five P.M.  The east-bound night express was ready for the run to A. & T. Junction; the fast mail, one hour and thirty-five minutes late from the east, was backing in on track nine to take on the city mail.  On track eight, pulled down so that the smoke from the engine should not foul the air of the train-shed, the receiver’s private car, with the 1010 for motive power and “Red” Callahan in the cab, had been waiting since seven o’clock for the order to run special to Gaston.  And as yet the headquarters office had made no sign; sent no word of reply to the strike notice.

Griggs was on for the night run eastward with the express; and “Dutch” Tischer had found himself slated to take the fast mail west.  The change of engines on the mail had been effected at the shops; and when Tischer backed his train in on track nine his berth was beside the 1010.  Callahan swung down from his cab and climbed quickly to that of the mail engine.