"I'm glad," he said. "And I know one thing--there's not a road on earth that's got a better one!" * * * * * The doctor looked rather grave when Allan told him he was going to work Thursday night, but really there was little danger so long as the boy was careful to avoid strain on the injured side. The plaster cast had been removed, and in its place had been substituted by a broad leather bandage, drawn so tightly about the chest as to prevent all movement of the ribs. That was to stay there until the injury was quite healed. But, aside from the discomfort of this bandage, the boy was in no pain, he had had no fever after the second day; and, despite the fiery protests of Jack and Mary, the doctor finally consented that Allan should go to work as he had promised. "T' think of a boy with two broke ribs in his body a-goin' t' work--an' at sech a time o' night!" fumed Mary, as she packed his lunch-basket for him. "But a railroad ain't got no feelin's. All it wants is t' work a man till he's played out an' done fer, an' then throw him away like an old glove." "Maybe I can get a job as crossing watchman when that time comes," laughed Allan. "I ought to be good for a few years yet, anyway." "It wouldn't surprise me a bit t' be follerin' yer coffin a week from now," declared Mary, darkly; but, just the same, it would have surprised her very much. Allan laughed again, as he took up his lunch-basket and started across the yards. He was a little early, but he wanted to spend an extra five or ten minutes going over the train-orders, to make sure that he understood them thoroughly. As he approached the station, he saw two carriages drive up. A number of young men and women got out of them--they had evidently been packed in pretty tight--and gathered in a voluble group on the platform, evidently waiting for the east-bound flyer, which was almost due. Allan, passing quite near, suddenly found himself looking into the blue eyes of Betty Heywood. Instinctively he raised his hat. "Why, how do you do," she said, and held out her hand in the old, friendly manner. "I hear you've been distinguishing yourself again." "Just blundering into trouble," he answered, smiling. "Some people are always doing that, you know." "Well, that's better than running away from it--some people do that, too." "Oh, yes," he agreed, and then stopped. He found it strangely difficult to talk to her with all these friends about her. If they were only alone together-- "I'm going away to school," she went on, seemingly not noticing his shyness. "Then you'll be gone a long time?" "Oh, I'm never coming back to Wadsworth--that is to live. You see, we're moving to Cincinnati, where papa will have his headquarters. But, of course," she added, "I shall often come back to see my friends. Oh, there's my train! Good-bye!" and she held out her hand again.