CHAPTER XXIX
THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER
Mary Welsh and Mamie, hurrying with anxious hearts and pallid cheeks, not daring to think of what awaited them, toward Chestnut’s drugstore, in answer to Jack’s summons, were met outside the little triangular frame building from which the drugstore stared out upon the tracks, by Jack himself, his face gray and lined with suffering and self-accusation.
“Wait a minute,” he said, hoarsely, and Mary, reading the suffering in his eyes, put her hand quickly upon his arm.
“How is he?”
“I don’t know yet. The doctor’s just finishin’ with him.”
And then his self-control gave way, and a great sob shook him.
“A nice guardeen I am, ain’t I?” he asked, bitterly. “Oh, I could go an’ throw myself under the wheels of that engine there!”
“Don’t, Jack!” protested Mary, quickly. “Don’t take it so. Whatever happened wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was! I stood by like a dumb beast an’ let Hummel—Kin ye ever forgive me, Mamie? Oh, but I’m shamed t’ look ye in the eyes!”
“Forgive you, dad?” cried the girl, her heart smitten as she looked at him. “Why, dad, there’s nothing to forgive. I know you did your best.”