sister carrie

Chapter 72 (2)

Chapter 41 Strike (2)
"You have to watch out for these things," said the policeman on the left earnestly.

"Yes." Hurstwood agreed sheepishly.

"There are quite a few turns on this line," said the policeman on the right.

After turning the corner, there are more people on the road, and one or two pedestrians can be seen ahead.A child rushed out of the door with a tin milk jug in his hand, and gave Hurstwood his first scolding.

"Scab!" he roared, "Scab!"

Hurstwood had heard it, but didn't want to comment, or even take it personally.He knew he would be scolded, maybe more.

At another bend ahead, a man stood beside the railroad tracks, beckoning the car to stop.

"Ignore him," said one of the policemen, "he must be up to something."

Hurstwood obeyed.Around the bend, he saw the intention.As soon as the man saw that he was being ignored, he raised his fist.

"You blood-sucking coward!" he yelled.

There were five or six people standing at the corner behind the fast-moving car, throwing insults and laughing at them.

Hurstwood did not flinch.But the reality was worse than he had imagined.

Three or four blocks ahead of here, I could see a bunch of stuff on the track now.

"They've been making trouble here," one police officer said.

"Maybe we'll have an argument," said another.

Hurstwood drove the car over and stopped, but before the car stopped, a group of people gathered.Some of them are the original drivers and conductors, as well as a few friends and supporters.

"Dude, get out of the car," one of them said conciliatoryly, "you don't take bread out of people's mouths, do you?"

Hurstwood gripped the brakes and steering column, grey-faced, not knowing what to do.

"Stand back," a policeman yelled.He leaned against the railing of the driver's cab, "Scatter out immediately. Give this man a chance to do this job."

"Listen, man," said the leader, ignoring the police, and addressing Hurstwood directly, "we're laborers, just like you. If you're an ordinary driver, and you're treated like us, you're You wouldn't want someone to step in and take your place, would you? You wouldn't want someone to push you out and take your rights away, would you?"

"Turn off the engine! Turn off the engine!" Another policeman said violently, "Go away!" He jumped from the railing to the front of the crowd on the ground and drove the crowd away.Immediately another policeman jumped to the ground and stood beside him.

"Back off," he growled, "Get out of the way. What the hell are you trying to do? Get out of here."

A crowd is like a swarm of bees.

"Don't push me," said one of the strikers, firmly. "I have nothing to do."

"Go away!" roared the policeman, swinging his baton. "I'm going to hit you on the skull. Back off."

"Damn it!" said another striker, cursing as he charged his way.

A policeman's baton struck him on the forehead.He blinked dizzily for a few times, his feet wobbled, he stretched out his hand, and staggered back.In return, a quick punch to the cop's neck.

The policeman was enraged at this moment, and he frantically waved his baton, dashing left and right.His cop brother helped him a lot.He cursed loudly at the raging crowd.Fortunately, the strikers moved quickly and hid quickly without causing serious injuries.They stood in the aisle, laughing and cursing.

"Where's the conductor?" a police officer yelled.He had been paying attention to this man, and he had hurried forward and stood beside Hurstwood.And Hurstwood, watching the scene, was more surprised than frightened.

"Why don't you come down and remove the rock from the track?" asked the policeman. "What are you standing there for? You mean to stay here all day? Come down."

Hurstwood breathed heavily, and jumped down with the flustered conductor, as if he, too, had been called down.

"Quick," said another policeman.

Although the weather is very cold, but these policemen are hot and crazy.Working with the conductor, Hurstwood lifted rock after rock until he was hot.

"Oh, you scab!" roared the crowd. "You coward! Stealing people's jobs, aren't you? Robber of the poor, you thief? We'll deal with you. Just wait and see."

These were not spoken by one person.It was said here and there, and there were more such words and expletives.

"Go on, you rascals," growled a voice, "do the dirty work. You poor people's vampires!"

"Please God starve you," roared an old Irish woman.She opened a nearby window and stuck her head out of it.

"Yeah, it's you," she went on, meeting a policeman's eyes. "You murderer! Do you dare to hit my son on the head, you cruel murderer? Ah, you—"

But the policeman seemed deaf.

"Go to hell, you hag," he murmured as he glanced at the scattered crowd.

Now that the stone was removed, Hurstwood returned to his seat amidst a chorus of oaths.Two policemen stood beside him, the conductor rang the bell, and suddenly, bang! bang! Pieces of stones, large and small, were thrown through the window and into the car door.One of them nearly hit Hurstwood on the head.Another shattered the rear window.

"Tighten the lever!" shouted a policeman, reaching for the handle himself.

Hurstwood obeyed him, and the car drove straight away, while stones were thrown from behind and curses flew over.

"That—thrown it on my neck," said one of the policemen, "but I hit him back for it, too."

"I see, I've scarred some people."

"I know the big man who called us," said the first cop, "and I'm going to settle my account with him."

"I see we must be in trouble when we get there," said the second.

Hurstwood, feverish and excited, stared intently ahead.It was an astonishing experience for him.He had read about these things in the papers, but the facts were always fresh.Mentally, he is not a coward.Now that he had suffered a lot, it fueled his determination to get through it.It was not on his mind to go back to New York or to go home.This trip is really exhausting.

They were now driving into downtown Brooklyn without stopping.People stared at the car's shattered windows and at Hurstwood in civilian clothes.From time to time, the voice of "scab" sounded.When the car arrived at the commercial center stop, a policeman went to his police station and reported the dispute.

"There's a gang of thugs outside the city," he said, "and they're lying in wait for us. Better send some men out and drive them away."

The drive back was more peaceful—there was jeering, glaring, stone-throwing, but no attack.Hurstwood even breathed easier when he saw the garage.

"Okay," he said to himself, "I've finally passed."

The car was in the garage so he could take a break, but then he was called again.This time another squad of policemen was dispatched to the car.He was more confident than before, so he drove along the ordinary street, and he felt less afraid.However, on the other hand, he also suffered a lot.The weather was cold, with snowflakes, and the wind was blowing hard. It was even more uncomfortable when the car was driving fast.The clothes on him were not for such a job.He shivered from the cold, kicked his feet, beat his arms, imitating some drivers in the past, but kept silent.Being forced to come here, he felt deeply unlucky and unfortunate, but the current situation was new and dangerous, which somewhat relieved his original feelings, but after all, he still felt bitter and bitter.This is the life of a dog, he thought.It's hard enough to be pushed to this point.

(End of this chapter)