“Yes, he’s a good man; and he’s done more for this road than most of us. I’d probably be a dead man by now and you’d be filling my shoes, if it hadn’t been for him. That may not seem to you a cause for unmitigated rejoicing, but it does to me. I’m not quite ready, yet, to pass in my checks. It was really he, you know, who prevented that accident at Byers. If it hadn’t been prevented, this road would have needed a whole new complement of general officers. The old ones would have been wiped out.”
The chief-dispatcher nodded.
“Found any trace of Nolan?”
“No—not a trace,” and Mr. Schofield’s face clouded. "I’ve had our detectives scouring that whole country, but he seems to have disappeared completely. I believe he has left for other parts. I only hope he’ll stay there. If I could catch him, I’d have him back in the pen. in short order."
He looked up as some one entered, and saw that the newcomer was Jack Welsh, who came in with a slightly sheepish air, holding his cap in his hand.
“I dunno what Misther Schofield wants t’ see me fer,” he had said to his wife that morning, when the trainmaster’s message was delivered to him. “I ain’t been doin’ nothin’ t’ git hauled up on th’ carpet fer.”
“O’ course you ain’t,” agreed Mary, warmly, instantly championing his cause. “An’ don’t ye take none o’ his lip, Jack. Give him as good as he sinds.”
“All right, darlint,” and Jack chuckled. “O’ course it don’t matter if I lose me job. You kin take in washin’. An’ I’m feelin’ th’ need o’ resting fer a year or two, anyway. So I’ll slug him in th’ eye if he ain’t properly respectful.”
Yet the sheepishness in Jack’s demeanour, as he stood before the trainmaster, was not due to any feeling of subserviency or false modesty. It was rather embarrassment because of unfamiliar surroundings, and because of the many eyes centred upon him and the many ears straining to hear what would follow.
“Good morning, Welsh,” said Mr. Schofield, with a gruffness assumed for the occasion. “How is everything on Twenty-one?”