The lamp seemed to shine more brightly and the air of the office seemed somehow clearer and cleaner when the door shut behind Nevins and the sound of his footsteps died away. Mr. Schofield arose and shook himself, as though to rid himself of some infection. Then he glanced at his watch. It was nearly midnight.

“It’s time I was getting back to town,” he said. “I’ve got to join the special again in the morning. Isn’t there an extra west about due here?”

“Yes, sir,” Allan answered. “There’s one due in about ten minutes.”

“Well, I’ll take it; I dare say the conductor can fix me up a berth in the caboose. You’d better come with me, Jack,” he added, as Allan set the signal to stop the train. “Your wife’s probably trying to figure out what’s happened to you, and I think she’s entitled to an explanation.”

“Not much sleep will she be gittin’ this night,” Jack chuckled. “She’ll be havin’ me tell th’ whole story foive times, at least!”

? 172 ?

“And, by the way, Allan,” went on Mr. Schofield, casually, “you needn’t report for duty to-morrow night.”

Allan’s face flushed. Of course there would have to be an investigation. He had forgotten that.

“Very well, sir,” he said, quietly, though he could hear the heavy breathing which told that Jack Welsh did not think it well, at all.

“Because you know,” the trainmaster went on, smiling queerly, “that the day trick here is vacant now, and, of course, it naturally falls to you. I will get some extra man to take it to-morrow, so that you can get a good night’s rest—you need it. You will report for duty the next morning.”

Allan’s heart was in his throat, and he dared not trust himself to speak, but he held out his hand, and the trainmaster gripped it warmly.

“And I’m mighty glad,” said Mr. Schofield, not wholly unaffected himself, “that you’ve come out of this affair so well. I was afraid for a time that you wouldn’t—and I couldn’t have felt any worse if it had been my own boy. There she comes,” he added, in another tone, as a whistle sounded far down the line. “Come on, Welsh; we mustn’t keep her waiting. Good-bye, Allan,” and he sprang down the steps.

But Allan held Jack back for a whispered word.

“After all, Jack,” he said, brokenly, squeezing the broad, honest, horny palm in both his own, "it ? 173 ? was you who saved the train, not I. You deserve the reward, if there’s to be one. I didn’t do anything—only stood staring here like a fool—"

“Cut it out, boy; cut it out,” broke in Jack, gruffly. “You did all ye could. I jest happened t’ be there.”

“But oh, Jack, if you hadn’t been! And no one would ever have known who caused the wreck! Every one would have thought it was my fault!”

“I know three people who wouldn’t!” protested Jack. “Their names is Mary, Mamie, an’ Jack Welsh!”

“Nonsense, Jack,” said Allan, laughing, though his eyes were bright with tears. “Why, I’d have thought so myself!”

“There’s th’ train,” broke in Jack, hastily. “See ye in th’ mornin’,” and tearing himself away, he followed Mr. Schofield down the steps.

Allan, watching from the door, saw them jump aboard the caboose before it had fairly stopped. The trainmaster exchanged a word with the conductor, who swung far out and waved his lantern to the engineer; and as Allan lowered the signal to show a clear track, the train gathered way again and sped westward into the night, toward Wadsworth. He watched it until the tail lights disappeared in the darkness, then he turned back into the little room and sat down before his key, his heart filled with thanksgiving.

? 174 ?

The dispatcher at headquarters, calling Byers Junction to send a message to the trainmaster, soon found out that he was aboard the freight, and in consequence that fortunate train was given a clear track, and covered the twenty-eight miles to Wadsworth in forty-five minutes. One o’clock was striking as Jack Welsh climbed the steep flight of steps that led to his front door. At the top, he found a shawled figure waiting.

“Why, Mary,” said he, “you’ll be ruinin’ your health, me darlint, stayin’ up so late.”

“Yes,” she retorted, “an’ I’ll be goin’ crazy, worritin’ about ye. Where’ve ye been, Jack Welsh?”

“Niver ye mind. Is my supper ready?”

“Supper? Ye mane breakfast, don’t ye?”

“Call it what ye like, so it’s fillin’. Fer I’ve got an awful emptiness inside me. Didn’t I send ye word by Dan Breen that I’d be a little late?”

“An’ do ye call one o’clock in th’ mornin’ a little late?” she queried, with irony.

“Well,” said Jack, tranquilly, walking on through toward the kitchen, “that depends on how ye look at it. Some folks might call it a little early.”

A lamp was burning on the kitchen table, and as Jack came within its circle of light, Mary, who was close behind, saw for the first time the condition of his clothes.

“Jack!” she screamed, and rushed up to him, ? 175 ? and then she saw the piece of court-plaster on his forehead, as well as the various minor bumps and contusions which he had received. “Have ye been fightin’?” she demanded, sternly.

“Yes, darlint,” answered Jack, cheerfully.

“An’ got hurted?” and she touched the wound tenderly.

“Only a scratch, Mary; ye ought t’ see th’ other felly.”

“Who was he, Jack?”

“His name’s Nevins—but ye don’t know him.”

“Tell me about it,” she commanded, her eyes blazing. “All about it!”

“Well, it’s a long story, darlint,” said Jack, teasingly, “an’ I don’t feel quite ekal to it on an empty stomach. I guess I’d better go over t’ th’ daypo restaurant an’ git a snack. I ain’t had nothin’ t’ eat since noon o’ yistidday.”

“O’ course I kept your supper hot fer ye, Jack,” she assured him, softening instantly. “You go git washed an’ git into some clean clothes, so you’ll look a little less like a hobo, an’ I’ll have it on th’ table in a jiffy.”

Mary Welsh was one of those admirable housekeepers whom no emergency finds unprepared. Jack’s supper had long ago evaporated and dried up in the process of keeping it warm; even the tenderest steak, kept in an oven for seven hours, will acquire a leathery texture and a flavour of old shoes. But a fresh piece of steak was frying in ? 176 ? a moment, and some sliced potatoes sputtering in the pan beside it; the coffee-pot was set on again, and the pantry rummaged for such supplies as it could furnish. It was some little time before Jack reappeared, for he had to change his clothes from the skin out, as well as get the mud off the skin itself. When, at last, he did come down the stairs, the meal, fresh, appetizing, and smoking hot, was awaiting him on the table.

“Mary, you’re a jewel,” he said, as he drew up his chair, and fell to.

“Yes,” she observed, dryly, “I’ve allers heerd that th’ way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Well, I’d rather have me heart in me belly than in me pocketbook,” retorted Jack. “Lucky I had on me old clothes,” he added; “they’ll niver be fit t’ wear agin.”

Mary sat down opposite him expectantly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Mebbe I kin wash ’em an’ patch ’em so’s they’ll be all right, Jack.”

“All right fer a scarecrow, mebbe, but not fer a swell like me. Now, Mary, you go ahead an’ tell me all that’s happened, while I finish me supper.”

“But there hain’t anything happened t’ me, Jack,” she protested, filling his empty cup. "I jest stayed at home, an’ seen Allan off, an’ got your supper. An’ then Dan Breen come an’ said you’d be late. He’d seen ye git on th’ accommydation an’ thought ? 177 ? mebbe you’d been called out on th’ road somewheres. So I put Mamie to bed, an’ then jest set an’ waited. It seemed an awful long time."

Jack pushed his empty plate away from him, and glanced at the clock, which was ticking merrily away on the mantelpiece.

“Why, it’s half-past one!” he cried, in mock amazement. “We must be gittin’ t’ bed, Mary. We won’t want t’ git up at all in th’ mornin’,” but Mary was not alarmed, for she saw him fumbling in his pocket for his pipe, and knew that the story would not be long delayed.

Nor was it. Once the pipe was started, the story started, too, and Mary listened to every word with rapt attention, only interrupting from time to time, as it progressed, with an exclamation of astonishment or anger. When he had finished, she jumped up and came around the table to him, and kissed him and hugged him and even cried over him a little, for she loved him with her whole big Irish heart.

“Why, Jack, darlint,” she cried, “you’re a reg’lar hayro—like one reads about in th’ story-books.”

“A hayro!” echoed Jack, with a roar of laughter which was pro............