Free Distant Dreams by Tracie Peterson, Judith Pella

other group glanced around at one another as if silently debating the question, then a fellow who was nearly as big as Eddie folded his arms across his broad chest and said in a defiant voice, “This is a free country; we can sing when we want.”
    “Come on,” said Eddie, warning not pleading, “don’t make trouble.”
    “You railroad people are the only ones making trouble!”
    “We’re just having a peaceable drink,” put in James, thinking he could reason with the thugs.
    “We were here first.”
    The men in the corner rose as a body and all but faced off with the railroaders.
    “That’s the silliest thing I ever heard,” said James.
    “Look who the dandy is calling silly.”
    Eddie had been studying their new adversaries. “I’ve seen a couple of you blokes before. You’re canal people, ain’t you?”
    “Maybe railroad people ain’t as stupid as I thought!”
    “Why you—!” Eddie lunged forward.
    The tavern keeper tried to intercede. “I don’t want no trouble in my place.”
    “Then you shouldn’t ’ave let in these dirty railroad scum—” slurred the canal man.
    Eddie didn’t let the man finish. He flew at him with all his weight. Phineas rolled his eyes as if used to the conflict, while James, without hesitation, leapt at another of the canal men. In another two seconds the entire tavern had erupted into a brawl. Anyone not involved in the battle made hasty exits or hid with the tavern keeper behind his bar.
    James was a novice at barroom brawls or fisticuffs of any sort. But he threw himself into the melee with the delighted relish of a young man who knew he’d have to pay dearly for his actions later and thus wanted to make the most of them while he could. However, after his initial attack, he found himself hopelessly outclassed by the seasoned and rough canal men. He landed but one more punch—a quite ineffectual one—and then spent the next two minutes on the defensive, until a fist aimed at him hit its mark and he was sent sprawling on the floorboards.
    Slightly stunned, it took him a moment before he could lift his head and shake away his double vision. But when he was seeing clearly again, the first thing he beheld was one of the canal men lifting a chair over Eddie, who was unaware of his impending danger because he had his back to the man while busily fighting another. James struggled to his feet and, swaying and dizzy, lunged at the fellow with the chair. His effort spared Eddie by forcing the attacker to retreat, but the canal man was still on his feet and still holding the chair. James stumbled, still off balance from his previous blow. Before he could recover, the chair came crashing down on James’ head. Everything went black.
    When he woke, he saw a couple policemen out of the corner of his fuzzy vision. The fighters were being quickly dispersed.
    “Next time you’re all heading for the tollbooth,” warned one of the police. “Now clear out.”
    Eddie staggered over to James and put an arm under his shoulders. “Can you get up, Jimmy, my boy?”
    “Oh, sure . . .” But the minute James tried to stand, his knees buckled under him.
    “I’ll help him,” Davis muttered, staggering to where they stood. He wasn’t in much better shape than James, but at least he could walk on his own.
    “Tommy,” Eddie called to one of his comrades, “give us a hand.”
    Propped between his two friends, James was propelled from the tavern. The fresh air did wonders for his cloudy brain. But it also made him painfully aware of several open cuts on his lip and cheek. He raised a hand to them, then grinned.
    “I’ll bet you never been in a fight before, have you, lad?” said Eddie.
    James shook his head, the lopsided grin still plastered across his battered face.
    “Well, you acquitted yourself fine. The boys told me what you did for me. I’m beholden to you.”
    “My pleasure,” said James.
    “Here’s your jacket and hat,” said Tommy, handing James the items. The