“After all, Jack,” he said, brokenly, squeezing the broad, honest, horny palm in both his own, "it 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.
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.”