At the doorway, he turned and looked back. Riordan was still using the telephone.
The night was clear and bright and a warm breeze came in from the bay.
He walked along thoughtfully.
He wasn't going to be one of the lucky ten who were going to be taken back.
He was sure of that. He'd seen the anger in Riordan's eyes.
He turned the corner and walked to the car stop on the next block. Idly he wondered if his pass was still good now that he was laid off.
Two men came past him on the darkened street. One of them stopped.
"Got a match?"
"Sure," Tom said. He fumbled in his pocket.
He might not have a job but matches he still had.
He struck the match.
The sudden hardening in the man's eyes and the sound of footsteps behind him were a warning that came too late.
There was a sharp blow to the back of his head and he stumbled to his knees.
He reached out, grabbing the man in front of him around the legs.
The man swore under his breath and kicked upward with his knee, catching Tom in the groin.
Tom grunted from the pain as he went over backward, his head striking the sidewalk.
As if from a long way off, he felt the men kicking at him as he lay there.
He rolled over toward the edge of the sidewalk and into the gutter.
He felt a hand reach into his pocket and take out his pay envelope.
Feebly he tried to grab the hand.
"No," he pleaded. "Please, no, that's my pay, it's all I got!"
The man laughed harshly. He aimed a final kick at the side of Tom's head.
Tom saw the heavy boot coming but he couldn't duck away from it.
Then the lights exploded in his face and he rolled over, face down, in a puddle of water in the gutter.
He came to slowly, painfully, to the sound of water against his face. He moved his head wearily.
A gentle rain had begun to fall.
His body ached as he pushed himself up on his hands and slowly got to his feet.
He swayed dizzily for a moment and reached out to the street lamp to steady himself.
The lamp flickered and then went out. It was almost morning.
The sick gray light of the day spilled down around him. He saw his blue conductor's cap lying in the gutter, not far from where he stood.
Slowly he knelt and picked it up. He brushed it off against his coat and walked toward the corner.
There was a mirror in the corner of the drugstore window.
He paused in front of it and looked at himself. His uniform was torn and shredded, his tie askew, the shirt buttons ripped away.
He put his hand up to his face in touching wonder.
His nose was puffed and swollen, and one eye had already turned purple. With the tip of his tongue, he could feel the jagged edges of broken teeth.
He stared for a moment, numb with shock, then he began to understand what had happened to him.
Riordan had done it. He was sure of that.
That's why Riordan had been on the telephone when he'd left the union hall.
Suddenly, he realized he'd never be able to go back to work for the cable-car company.
Riordan would see to that, too.
He stood there looking at himself and the tears began to run down his cheeks.
Everything had gone wrong.
Everything.
Now he had no job and no money.
And worst of all, he'd have to tell Ellen.
She'd never believe he hadn't been out on a drunk, and the ironic thing was that he hadn't so much as taken one glass of beer.
4.
"Are ye goin' to be sittin' there all day reading the newspapers, studyin' what kind of a job would suit your highness best?" Ellen Denton asked caustically.
Her face was grim as she wrapped Jennie's lunch in a piece of wax paper.
Tom didn't speak, looking down at the paper again as Jennie came into the room.