Reddy chuckled again.
“Didn’t have none; neither did Mamie—at least, that’s what they said. But that didn’t trouble most o’ the papers none. They jest went ahead an’ made ’em up. One feller must ’a’ cut his picter o’ Mamie out of a fashion paper, an’ another used one of them skinny magazine girls, with their hair all a-flyin’ around their faces. An’ Allan—he looks like one of them young hayroes from the ready-made suit advertisements.”
“An’ does that look like the house?” asked Mrs. Magraw, indicating a building, with smoke and flames pouring from it in a truly terrifying manner, which further ornamented the newspaper’s account of the rescue.
“Well,” said Reddy, cautiously, “it does in a gineral way. It’s got four walls an’ a roof an’ some windeys. Furder ’n that I wouldn’t keer t’ go.”
“An’ have ye read the story?”
“Yes; I’ve read it. An’ a very purty story it is—a very purty work of the imagination. You should read it, an’ see what a liar yer husband is. I allers did admire them newspaper felleys. T’ hear them tell the story, you’d think they was right on the scene—an’ them that was there can’t recognize the place.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Magraw, in amazement, “I allers thought I could believe what I saw in the papers. What’ll I do now?”
“Do as I do, darlint,” replied her husband; “read the papers not fer instruction but fer entytainment.”
The story of the abandoned train and the eleventh hour rescue of its crew was a nine days’ wonder. There was the hearing of the case, the robbers’ confession, the lapse into violent insanity of the murderous idiot, the serious condition of two of the crew, and of the young chief dispatcher who had risked his life searching for them. All these kept up the interest from day to day, adding new fuel to the flames, and the enterprising reporters made the most of them. The two brakemen recovered, however, in a few days, but nearly a week had elapsed before the doctor, coming down from the room where Allan West lay, pronounced him out of danger.