"Allan, you're a dear!" she cried. "A perfect dear!" It was at this moment that the door opened and Jack Welsh came in, grinning broadly as he saw the tableau at the table. "Mary," he said, "it seems to me that Mamie's gittin' t' be a very forrerd sort o' body. It's scandalous th' way she runs arter th' boys." "Only arter one boy, Jack," corrected his wife, "an' I don't care how much she runs arter him. But how did ye happen t' git home so early?" "I was hungerin' fer a sight o' your black eyes, me darlint," answered Jack, winking at Allan, and he passed his arm about his wife's trim waist and gave her a tremendous hug. "Go way, ye blarney!" she cried, beating him off. "Do ye wonder your child's forrerd when her father sets her sich an example? An' I s'pose you'll be wantin' your supper now. Well, it ain't ready!" "No," said Jack, releasing her, "I've got t' go back t' th' yards first t' see th' roadmaster. I'll be back in about half an hour. Come along, Allan, if you're goin'." Allan put on coat and hat, picked up the luncheon-basket, which Mary had already packed for him, kissed Mamie again, and followed Jack down the steep path which led to the street. He turned at the gate to wave good-bye to Mary and Mamie, who stood watching them from the door above, then followed Jack across the maze of tracks toward the station. "Th' fact o' th' matter is, Allan," said Jack, in a low voice, as the boy caught up with him, "I come home early on purpose t' see you." "To see me?" Allan repeated, and when he glanced at Jack, he saw that his face was very grave. "Yes, t' see you," said Jack again, and hesitated, as though reluctant to impart the news which he knew would be unwelcome. "What is it?" asked Allan, and a little shiver ran through him, for he knew that Jack would not speak so without good reason. The elder man hesitated yet a moment. "Dan Nolan's loose," he said, at last, his voice hoarse with emotion. CHAPTER IX AN UNWELCOME GUEST "Dan Nolan's loose," repeated Jack, as though his companion had not heard, and then walked on in silence. Allan's heart gave a sickening leap--not in the least of fear, for he had never been afraid of Nolan, but of anxiety for the property of the company. He knew Nolan's revengeful and vindictive nature; he knew that he would never rest content until he had avenged himself upon the company for sending him to the penitentiary. For himself he did not fear; Nolan, who was a coward at heart, a lazy, overgrown bully, had never dared attack him openly. He recalled how the thought of Nolan had oppressed him that morning. There was something prophetic in it! "But I don't understand," he said, at last. "I thought Nolan had been sent to the penitentiary for three years."