A great burst of cheering broke forth again and again. They were generous men, these section-foremen of the Irish Brigade, and, seeing how all thought of self was forgotten, Allan’s eyes grew suddenly misty. Not a man there who seemed to feel the bitterness of the vanquished. But as Allan glanced over to Jack, who was making his way over the seats and stopping to return hand-shakes right and left, a cheer on his own account burst from the boy’s lips, and he tossed his cap wildly in the air. “Good for ye, lad!” cried one of the men, slapping the boy on his back. “Give him a cheer! That’s right. Give him another cheer!” and Allan was lifted to the shoulders of one of the brawny men, who cried: “This is the b’y that saved Jack Welsh’s colleen, worth more than a prize to Jack Welsh! Give the b’y a cheer!” And the men responded with a will! A moment later and they settled down again, as they saw the superintendent was waiting for their attention. “Welsh,” began that official, when quiet was restored, “you’re a good man, and I’m glad that you got the prize. But,” he added, looking around over the crowd, “you’re not the only good man in the Irish Brigade. The only thing I’m sorry for is that I can’t give a prize to every man here. I’m like the Dodo in ‘Alice in Wonderland’—I think you’ve all won, and that you all ought to have prizes. I want to thank you every one for your good work. I’m not overstating things a bit when I say that this division is in better shape than any other on the road. We’ve had fewer accidents, and we’ve run our trains closer to the schedule than any other—all of which is largely due to your good work. I’m proud of my Irish Brigade!” They cheered him and clapped him, and every man there resolved to do better work, if possible, in the coming year than he had done in the past one. And yet there were some of the officials in the far-distant general offices at Baltimore who wondered why the superintendent of the Ohio division was so popular with his men! * * * * * Jack came to Allan at last and gripped his hand with a strength that proved how deep his emotion was. “Come on,” he said. “We’re goin’ home on Number Seven. It’ll start in a minute.” They went together across the tracks and clambered into the coach. Allan caught a confused picture of a glare of lights and laughing people crowding past. But hardly had the train started when his head fell back against the seat, and slumber claimed him. Jack waked him up at the journey’s end, and together they hurried through the yards and up the steep path to the little cottage. Jack’s wife was awaiting him in the doorway, and he drew forth the check and placed it in her hands. “We won,” he said, softly. “’Twas fer you, Mary, I wanted t’ win. It means th’ new dress you’ve been a-needin’ so long, an’ a dress fer Mamie; yes, an’ a new carpet.” The wife said not a single word, but drew Jack’s face down to hers and kissed it.