“I know it, sir,” said Jack, heartily. “I know it, Mr. Schofield. You’ve always treated us square. But I couldn’t help rememberin’!”
Half an hour later Allan and Jack intercepted the doctor as he came out of the little house where Mrs. Magraw sat with her apron over her head, rocking back and forth in agony.
“He’ll be all right, won’t he, doctor?” asked Jack, anxiously. “He ain’t a-goin’t’ die?”
“No,” answered the doctor, “he’ll not die. But,” and he hesitated, “he got a mighty bad crack, and it will be a long time before he’s able to be out again.”
“He’s come to all right, ain’t he, doctor?” questioned Jack, seeing the doctor’s hesitation.
“Yes, he’s conscious again, but he’s not quite himself yet. But I think he’ll come around all right,” and the doctor walked briskly away, while Jack and Allan, assured that they could do nothing more for Reddy or his family, whom the neighbours had parcelled out among themselves, went slowly home.
CHAPTER VII.
THE IRISH BRIGADE
It was not until they were seated around the table that evening that Allan remembered that the next day was to occur the great inspection by the Irish Brigade, and he straightened up suddenly as he thought of it.
“Didn’t that engine tear things up some when she ran off the track?” he asked of Jack.
“Yes,” answered the foreman, “but it was only at th’ end of th’ sidin’, an’ that won’t matter. Besides, th’ wreckin’ crew’s up there now gittin’ th’ engine back on th’ track an’ fixin’ things up ag’in. If th’ main line on Twenty-one ain’t in good shape, it’s because I don’t know what good shape is,” he added, with decision. “We couldn’t do anything more to it if we worked fer a week. I’ve asked th’ boys t’ take a run over it t’-morrer mornin’ jest as a matter o’ precaution. Do y’ think y’ kin git up at midnight?” he added, suddenly, giving his wife a knowing wink.