It was our first trip of
the day, and we had a big load of small stuff for the Russia, When
I had unloaded and checked up my sheet, No. 44,281 was missing. I
went back to the office, reported the loss, and was discharged on
the spot--they're hard as nails on anything like that. Well, I went
home pretty blue, for it's hard work finding a job nowadays, and I
didn't know which way to turn. I'd been keeping bachelor hall with
the driver of the wagon. He's a foreigner named Grenelli, and
claims to be an Italian. Maybe so, but he looks more like a German,
and he can talk half a dozen languages. I used to go with him to
the socialist meetings over on the East Side, and the Tower of
Babel isn't in it with those fellows.
"An anarchist? Oh, I don't think so. Liked to shoot off his mouth
about the rights of man, and he was always down on taxes. But I
shouldn't call him an anarchist. Why, he was the driver of an
express wagon, and the two things don't jibe.
"I should have said that Grenelli had been suspended during the
investigation into the loss, and of course we went home together.
We talked the thing over from end to end, but we couldn't explain
the disappearance of the package--neither of us. Of course, it was
me who was the real responsible party in the business, and
Grenelli, who naturally wanted to get back on his time, felt pretty
grouchy about it.
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