A CHRISTMAS WITH "OLD PORT." 363 



I stole 'em? Whoa! back, Jake! Here's another cus- 

 tomer. Yes'm, just up by lightning express from Rock- 

 away; caught last night. Ah, see how the juice runs out 

 of his shell, thinking how you'll enjoy him.' 



"Poor Bill! When he was burned to death trying 

 to rescue the books from the office of the Boston & Al- 

 bany Railroad, when the station burned at East Albany, 

 and an appeal was made in behalf of his widow, the board 

 of directors said: 'He did no more than his duty.' 



"It is true that corporations have no souls, but Bill 

 Fairchild had one, and when I think of his sacrifice for 

 the widow of an unknown clam peddler and his heroic 

 sacrifice of his life for a soulless corporation, I recognize 

 the hero. Gentlemen: To the memory of Bill Fair- 

 child!" 



We had all known the reckless dare-devil, Bill, who 

 in a good cause would cry "clams!" in a quiet village on 

 a Sunday morning, and whose tragic death was fresh in 

 the memory of all present; so when the next speaker 

 began telling of him we were surprised. General Miller 

 had selected his victim, and we heard 



"Talking about Bill Fairchild reminds me of a winter 

 night when my boat had been frozen up for months, and 

 the ice in the Hudson had begun to get tender in spots. 

 No teams had crossed the river for a fortnight, and where 

 the foot passengers crossed there were boards placed in 

 the most dangerous spots. Although there was a man 

 in charge of the boat, who slept on board, I kept watch 

 of the river to see that everything was safe. We usually 

 wintered the boat in the Albany basin, but this time she 

 was moored in the canal between the two big freight 

 houses of the B. & A. R. R. 



