“And you didn’t find out who the fellow was?” asked Crawford.
“No—he wouldn’t tell my mother what his name was, and the reporter couldn’t find anybody in the crowd that knew him,” said Reed.
“Lucky for your little sister that he happened to be on hand just that minute, whoever he was,” said Sherman.
Reed’s usually bright eyes were suspiciously dim as he answered in a low tone, “Yes—I can’t bear to think of it.” Then he added, “My father says he’d give a hundred dollars to know who the boy was.”
“Queer idea, not to give his name,” remarked Henderson.
“Well—he was a brave fellow, anyhow,” said Crawford. “Tell you what—I wouldn’t care to run in front of a fire-engine, going at the rate they always do go.”
“Nor I,” said Coyle, “He ran the risk of being awfully hurt, if not killed.”
“That’s what I call courage,” remarked Hamlin emphatically, going over to Clark, who had taken his own seat on the other side of the room.
“Did you hear what Reed was telling, Clark?”
“Yes, I saw the account in the paper,” answered Clark quietly, “but I didn’t know until just now that the little girl was Charlie Reed’s sister. I didn’t know where he lived.”