weeks later that a casually turned paper in the hands of a fellow worker caught Larue's eye.
"Hey, wait a minute! Let me see that, Eddie, will yuh?"
"Huh?"
"Geeze, what do ya know! They're going to pull down the old West River Bridge el. Now how do they expect me to get to work!"
Eddie laughed. "Swim across, ya dope!"
Larue read the article all the way through. It seemed they were going to use the rails for scrap iron; the cars were to be sent to another part of the country where they were needed more.
Bus service across the bridge would be instituted.
That evening coming home on the el, Jack dug his boot into the door of the engineer's compartment. He was feeling the three drinks in him gulped down since the five o'clock whistle. When there was no answer to the third knock, he jerked the door open.
"Pete, I see they're going to pull down this el!"
The old man shook his head and then turned slightly to look at the foundry worker.
Jack went on, "That's what they say. I saw it in the paper. They're going to pull it down and we'll be taking busses across."
"They'll never stop the el," the old man rasped. "A thing like this, it ain't like a dog you can shoot or an old car you can throw in a junk heap. It's alive, I tell you! They can't kill it!"
Jack started at the vehemence in the old motorman's voice.
"Get out of here," the engineer said suddenly. "Get out of here, ya — "
Larue, taken aback, stood in the front of the car for a moment.
"Why you old devil!" he came back. "What's got into you ? You're scared, eh? You're scared because they're going to take down this rotten old el. Yeh, because you know when the el comes down, Nevers, you're finished, too. You ain't no good without it, are you? I know that. Nothing else you can do!" The laborer slammed the compartment door and departed.
That night in his little room on Nestor Street, Larue's conscience won through the liquor. He felt remorseful about old Pete Nevers. After all, he'd known the old man for years. Nothing too chummy, mind you, for Nevers kept everybody sort of at arm's length, but he had ridden the old man's train for what seemed like ages. Of course, it was tough to have them pulling down the el, taking away your means of livelihood, Pete. All of a sudden, Larue got the idea he must see Nevers. That was it. He knew the old man lived across the river near the desolate el yards where the old tired trains waited, some for eternity, others newer, for the ne:;t day, those next days that now were limited. Larue pulled on his jacket and barged down the stairs into the street.
It was dark as he headed for the el station. On the platform at 109th he waited, vaguely wondering why he was doing this, and then thinking over a whole chain of circumstances, little kindnesses Nevers had done, money he'd lent Larue... and not all of it paid back the foundry worker recalled guiltily.
It always amazed Larue. The rest of the el workers were chronic complainers. "Hardly enough to keep your face fed," was their line. Nevers was not one to complain. Maybe a man like that could find something else. Certainly he was reliable. Larue considered the opportunities in his foundry. Watchman, or something. That was it!
A train rumbled into the station and Larue boarded it. This wouldn't be one of Nevers' runs. He'd made his last trip and was already through. The elevated scraped its way out of 109th and poked along between the glaringly lighted tenements and finally onto the West River Bridge. The night was warm, and Larue poked his bare forearm out the window, letting the hottish breeze nudge it as the train reached the peak of the bridge
