throughout the seasons. Section bosses might come, station agents might go, but Ryan kept right there on that job pouring oil into switch lamps and mussing the soot of them around his melancholy eyes. Just as if all that responsibility was not enough to break a man down, said Ryan, they made him rustle baggage when there was any to rustle, and there most always was.
"Dhrummers," said Ryan, "comin' to this currsed country to sell goods! Man dear, I tell you some of them fellys carry more in their thrunks than the biggest store in this town has got laid out on its shelves. And I'm the man that has to lift em, and h'ave 'em up to the thruck, and aise 'em down like a sore fut, besides fillin' the lamps and puttin' 'em out and bringin' 'em in every blessed evenin' and mornin' the year through. And sweepin' and moppin' the office flure, and the flure of this harspittle you have here; and keepin' the fires goin', and dumpin' the ashes in the winther days, and all of it done for the grand sum and reward of sixty dollars a month!"
Dr. Hall had heard it all before, for Ryan was not a man to permit his great public services to pass without acclaim, even though no other voice ever joined in his praise. The expected patient presently came across from the bunk-cars, passing the loquacious Ryan with high bearing. This man was straw-boss on a steel-gang, a strong broad fellow who looked down on Ryan, and all other men of his class who sought the easy waters beside the heavy current of railroad toil. He had got his forearm broken while at work, and was enjoying a vacation on full time, according to the railroad custom in those days. Mike Murray was his name. He was known to the boarding-train as Mickey Sweat.
