In the morning the papers had a short account of Patrick's bravery, but it was spoken of simply as "an almost fatal accident," and Patrick's name appeared as Ole Fitzpatrick. He began to feel that he wasn't getting a fair shake. His promotion to the presidency of the road seemed to lag. There was a hitch in the senate probably about his confirmation or something of that kind. The acting president of the corporation selfishly retained his position, and looked so healthy, and seemed so pleased with himself that Patrick lost all patience.
One day a man with a wart on his nose met Patrick on the street and asked him if he was the gallant fireman of 259 who saved a little child a week or two ago.
Patrick said he was.
The man grasped his hand and said:
"That was my child. It was almost the only child I had. I only had nine others, and would have been almost childless if little James Abraham Garfield had been busted. You have done a brave, noble act, and the Lord will reward you. I am a poor man, as you would readily guess by my clothing and the fact that we have ten children. I cannot reward you with wealth or position, but I don't want to seem ungrateful or close or contiguous. Come with me my benefactor, and I will shake you for the drinks."
Then Patrick Oleson went away where he could be alone with his surging thoughts. He is now running a hurdy-gurdy in the San Juan country.
This story is only partially true. The main fact, however, viz.; that a child wasn't run over by a train, is true. It is different from most stories about saving children; but the spring style of story is a little different from that of former seasons, anyway.
In the spring style of prevarication, the engineer will either fail to grab the child in time and there will be nothing left on the track but a gingham apron and a grease spot, or, if he succeeds in saving the child, he will not get the position of sergeant-at-arms and a gold-headed cane, as was formerly the style.