The old man hobbled to a very old trunk with patched leather handles at either end and a lock that was rusted with age. Quickly a nailfile appeared in his hand and he dexterously pried at the lock. The trunk lop yielded and he pulled it back.
"Look," he said. Jack leaned forward and peered into the interior curiously.
"Why," he exclaimed, "it's a lot of metal—a lot of old metal parts!"
"Sure," said Philpot triumphantly. "You can see he's swiped levers and bars and facings off the el. Now that isn't the kind of man you want to be watchman!"
Larue was astonished.
"But why? Why would he take all that useless junk?"
"You can sell junk," suggested Philpot, wagging his head.
Just then there was an abrupt thud at the door. The metallic rasp of a key, and the next thing Peter Nevers himself stood in the entrance.
The three men stood silent for a moment, and then the motorman crossed quickly to the trunk, crashing the lid down with his hand. He turned accusing eyes on Philpot and Larue, eyes steely black with hatred. Larue stood there almost as a spectator. At first it seemed funny and then the vehemence of the man penetrated. Philpot was evidently in terror and he trembled and inched his way across to the door. Larue kept looking at the conductor to do the explaining, and when none was forthcoming; he turned to Pete himself and said simply:
"We just opened it up, Pete. Sorry. I had something I wanted to tell you about a job——"
Nevers raised a long, rigid arm until it pomted at the door in semaphore fashion.
"Get out!" he ordered. "Get out of here, both of you. Going through my things!"
He turned on Larue.
"And as for your job," Nevers said, "I don't need it!"
"What'll you do?" said the foundry worker.
"Stay with the el," growled Pete and starred menacingly toward them, his big old hands spread with obvious intention. The two ducked into the hall and headed down the stairs.
"Whew!" said Philpot, "guess he didn't like that."
"It's your fault," Larue reproached. "You shouldn't have nosed into his things That's what bothered him. He probably thought nobody knew. That was a damn fool thing to do!"
Philpot bristled: "I only wanted to show you. He shouldn't have got so sore. I meant no harm."
"It was your fault," Larue was stubborn.
The two headed out into the street, and Philpot slowed Larue's long lanky stride down, clutching at his sleeve.
"How about that watchman's job?"
"Go to the foundry and find out for yourself," disgustedly advised the laborer.
"Aw. be a good fellow!"
"I didn't look that up for you," persisted Jack.
"I don't know why you should kick. He doesn't want it," hissed Philpot, digging his fingers into the young man's arm. "Now I'll tell you something, mister. Pete ain't quite all right. He isn't exactly like other folks am. Me," Philpot shrugged again, "some folks think I'm getting a bit touched," and he thumped his forehead grinningly. "Silly, ain't it? But Pete, mister," his face became all seriousness again, "Pete is sort of touched all over, I'm telling you, he's not the same as us. I wouldn't want him watching anything of mine!"
Without another word Jack walked away, unmindful of the other's pleas.
Larue didn't notice either of the old el employees again until the momentous day when the el was to support its last load, the last trip through the stations and across the river, for then the old
