A lank
giant from the guards' ranks was after her. Screaming, she turned the
corner out of his vision. There were sounds which suggested a row at the
station-door, but the agent, called at that moment to the wire, could
not investigate. The train came and went, and he saw nothing more of the
ex-railroader from the West.
Although Mr. Horace Vanney smiled pleasantly enough when Banneker
presented himself at the office to make his report, the nature of the
smile suggested a background more uncertain.
"Well, what have you found, my boy?" the financier began.
"A good many things that ought to be changed," answered Banneker
bluntly.
"Quite probably. No institution is perfect."
"The mills are pretty rotten. You pay your people too little--"
"Where do you get that idea?"
"From the way they live."
"My dear boy; if we paid them twice as much, they'd live the same way.
The surplus would go to the saloons."
"Then why not wipe out the saloons?"
"I am not the Common Council of Sippiac," returned Mr. Vanney dryly.
"Aren't you?" retorted Banneker even more dryly.
The other frowned. "What else?"
"Well; the housing. You own a good many of the tenements, don't you?"
"The company owns some."
"They're filthy holes.
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