Mr. Schofield put his book back into his pocket, and got out another cigar. His nerves were jangling badly, and he felt the need of something to quiet them.
“Well,” he said, at last, “I’m sorry.”
And Allan bowed his head. He accepted the sentence of dismissal which the words implied; it was just. He saw all the air-castles which he had builded so hopefully come tumbling about him; he was overwhelmed in the ruins. He realized that there was no future for him in railroading; no place at the top. He had forfeited his right to serve the road, to expect promotion, by that one mistake, that one piece of carelessness. At least, he told himself, it had taught him a lesson, and one that he would never forget. It had taught him—
“IN THE NEXT INSTANT THE TALL FIGURE HAD BEEN FLUNG VIOLENTLY INTO THE ROOM.”
Some one stumbled heavily up the steps to the door, and Mr. Schofield uttered a sharp exclamation of astonishment. Allan started around to see upon the threshold the strangest apparition his eyes had ever rested on.
Two figures stood there so daubed with mud, so bedraggled with dirty water, so torn and bruised and soiled as scarcely to resemble human beings. One was tall and thin, the other not so tall and much heavier. The shorter figure held the tall one by the back of the neck in a grip so tight and merciless that such of the latter’s face as was visible through its coating of mud was convulsed and purple. One eye was closed and swollen, while the other seemed starting from its socket. Both men had lost their hats, and their hair was matted with mud, reddened, in the case of the shorter one, with blood.
All this Allan saw at a glance, for in the next instant, the tall figure had been flung violently into the room, while the other entered after him, closed the door, and stood leaning against it, breathing heavily.