“You people want to know who is injured,” I called. “I have a list here which I made over at the wreck and here. It is almost complete. If you will be quiet I will read it.”
A hush fell over the crowd. I stepped to one side, where there was a broad balustrade, mounted it and held up my paper.
“Edward Reeves,” I began, “224 South Elm Street, Alton. Arms, legs and face seriously burned. He may die.”
“Oh!” came a cry from a woman in the crowd.
I decided to not say whether any one was seriously injured.
“Charles Wingate, 415 North Tenth Street, St. Louis.”
No voice answered this.
“Richard Shortwood, 193 Thomas Street, Alton.”
No answer.
I read on down the list of forty or more, and at each name there was a stir and in some instances cries. As I stepped down two or three people drew near and thanked me. A flush of gratification swept over me. For once I felt that I had done something of which I could honestly be proud.