“Oh, sir!” said Harry, as soon as he understood what was going forward, “don’t reward me for what was only my duty. I should be ashamed to accept anything for the little I have done.”
“You may count it little to save the lives of a train full of people,” said the president, dryly, “but we set a slight value upon our lives and limbs. Are you rich?”
“No, sir.”
“So I thought. Well, you needn’t be ashamed to accept a little testimonial of our gratitude. You must not refuse.”
When all so disposed had contributed, the president gathered the bills from the hat and handed the pile to Harry.
“Take them, my boy,” he said, “and make good use of them. I shall owe you a considerable balance, for I value my life at more than twenty dollars. Here is my card. If you ever need a friend, or a service, call on me.”
Then the president gave directions to the engineer to run back to the preceding station, where there was a telegraph office, from which messages could be sent in both directions to warn trains of the washout.
Harry was left with his hands full of money, hardly knowing whether he was awake or dreaming.
One thing seemed to him only fair—to give the owner of the tablecloth some small share of the money, as an acknowledgment for the use of her property.
“Here, Madam,” said Harry, when he had retraced his steps to the house, “is your tablecloth, for which I am much obliged. It saved the train.”