“I’ll be ready before long, sir,” said Allan, smiling in sympathy with his guest’s good humour. “I’m getting quite strong again.”
But Mrs. Welsh interrupted him.
“Listen at th’ boy!” she cried, indignantly. “Why, Misther Schofield, an’ him with a bullethole clear through him t’ think o’ goin’ out an’ workin’ on section!”
The train-master was smiling more broadly than ever.
“It does seem pretty tough, doesn’t it?” he said. “Here’s a boy who’s saved the company’s pay-car with two hundred thousand dollars in it, and the lives of ten or fifteen men, and came within a hair’s breadth of getting killed. And yet he has to work on section for forty dollars a month. But then, there’s not so much danger on section any more; we’ve routed the tramps, you know, for good and all. Still, it’s pretty tough.”
“Tough!” and Mrs. Welsh looked at him with flaming eyes. “It’s worse ’n that, beggin’ your pardon, sir. It’s a sin an’ a shame! It’s a disgrace t’ th’ company!”
Allan tried to silence her, but she would not be silenced. He stole a horrified glance at Mr. Schofield, and was astonished to see that he was still smiling.
“A disgrace!” repeated that official. “Well, I agree with you, Mrs. Welsh. So we’re not going to let him go back on section. We can’t afford to waste a good man that way. It’s a little late for a Christmas gift, maybe, but he’s earned it and he’s going to get it.”
Mary stared at the speaker, speechless.
“There’s a job open in my office, young man,” he went on, turning to Allan. “It’s yours if you want it. It’s not such a very good job, for it pays only fifty dollars a month, but you’ll learn more about railroading there in a month than you can ever do on section, and you’ll be in line for promotion, and you’ll get promoted when you merit it. What do you say?”