“You might return it by express,” he suggested.
“So I might,” said Myles, brightening at the thought. “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll send it back by express from the first station.”
With this he drew the troublesome key from his pocket, where it had remained for two days unthought of, and the captain gazed at it curiously. They hunted up some brown wrapping-paper and did the key up in a package that was left with the express agent at the next station. It was directed to the Assistant Superintendent, Western Division, A. & B. R. R., and the charges on it were paid.
“There is no danger but that it will get there all right?” asked Myles, anxiously, of the agent.
“Oh, no,” was the reply. “Thanks to these gentlemen,” nodding to the gray-uniformed soldiers outside, “trains are running pretty regularly now. Our matter goes through all right, anyhow, whenever there is any thing to carry it, for the strikers haven’t any fight with the express company. They only stop freight and passengers.”
So having satisfied himself that he had done the best thing under the circumstances, Myles returned to the train and dismissed the matter from his mind.
Captain Ellis, with his command, left the train at the eastern end of the Central Division, where they were to remain until the following day, and then return to Mountain Junction. It was quite late at night when Myles bade these friends good-bye. Soon afterward he arranged himself as comfortably as possible in the car seat and fell asleep. When he next awoke his train was nearing New York and a boy was calling the morning papers close beside him.
Myles bought a Phonograph, curious to read the news of the great strike; for, though he was so well acquainted with what had taken place at and near Mountain Junction, it was four days since he had seen a daily paper, and he knew nothing of occurrences in other parts of the country. What was the heading of the first column on the first page? Was he reading it rightly? He went over it again slowly. Yes, there was no mistake. The heading was as plain as type could make it, and it was: “The Great Railroad Strike. Arrival of the 50th Regiment, N. G. S. N. Y. at Mountain Junction. Thrilling Details of their Trip. Daring Deed of a Phonograph Reporter. A Terrible Disaster Averted by his Ready Wit and Prompt Action. The Regiment Appreciates his Service.”
What could it all mean? Could these flattering words refer to him and what he had done? Yes, they could and did. As he read down the long column he found his own name mentioned more than once. There was a full, though perhaps slightly exaggerated, account of his ride, the wreck of his hand-car, the stopping of the train in consequence just in time, and the subsequent scene at Mountain Junction.
How fine it all looked in print! How much more daring and splendid the whole affair seemed now than it had twenty-four hours before, when he, stunned and bruised, was being told that he deserved to be hanged!