“It's the boss and the clerk!” shouted the foreman. “Fall back, men,—fall back, damn ye!”
The man came straight on, reached the lips of the opening, lunged heavily to the right, tried to steady his burden and fell headlong.
CHAPTER XV
The street lamps were already lighted on the following afternoon—when Ruth, with Peter and Miss Felicia, alighted at the small station of Corklesville. All through the day she had gone over in her mind the words of the despatch:
Explosion in tunnel. MacFarlane hurt—serious—will recover. Break news gently to daughter.
Bolton Asst. Engineer
Other despatches had met the party on the way down; one saying, “No change,” signed by the trained nurse, and a second one from Bolton in answer to one of Peter's: “Three men killed—others escaped. MacFarlane's operation successful. Explosion premature.”
Their anxiety only increased: Why hadn't Jack telegraphed? Why leave it to Bolton? Why was there no word of him,—and yet how could Bolton have known that Peter was with Ruth, except from young Breen. In this mortal terror Peter had wired from Albany: “Is Breen hurt?” but no answer had been received at Poughkeepsie. There had not been time for it, perhaps, but still there was no answer, nor had his name been mentioned in any of the other telegrams. That in itself was ominous.
This same question Ruth had asked herself a dozen times. Jack was to have had charge of the battery—he had told her so. Was he one of the killed?—why didn't somebody tell her?—why hadn't Mr. Bolton said something?—why—why—Then the picture of her father's mangled body would rise before her and all thought of Jack pass out of her mind.