Scott wants to halt all westbound freights, and it’s my job to put his plan into motion,” Aderley told Charley. “Between the two of us, we have no choice but to follow Scott’s directive.” Thankfully, the longshoremen at the New York harbor had returned to work. The strike scheduled for June twenty-seventh had been canceled, and the newly formed trainmen’s union was in trouble. Still, dissention existed in the ranks. Charley stood next to Aderley at the open window overlooking the entire rail yard, and several blocks of homes and businesses. The rumbling from the crowd down below was like a droning fan, masking the angry words filling the air. Even the loud clatter of the telegraph keys coming from Donahue’s desk in the hallway office didn’t hide the cries of outrage rising in anguish. Charley lowered his head, heavy hearted, and turned to sit in the chair on the other side of Aderley’s desk. Aderley sat in his massive leather chair, thumbs looped inside his vest pockets, his gold pocket-watch dangling loose.
