“Yes; I’ve read it. An’ a very purty story it is—a very purty work of the imagination. You should read it, an’ see what a liar yer husband is. I allers did admire them newspaper felleys. T’ hear them tell the story, you’d think they was right on the scene—an’ them that was there can’t recognize the place.” “Well,” said Mrs. Magraw, in amazement, “I allers thought I could believe what I saw in the papers. What’ll I do now?” “Do as I do, darlint,” replied her husband; “read the papers not fer instruction but fer entytainment.” * * * * * The story of the abandoned train and the eleventh hour rescue of its crew was a nine days’ wonder. There was the hearing of the case, the robbers’ confession, the lapse into violent insanity of the murderous idiot, the serious condition of two of the crew, and of the young chief dispatcher who had risked his life searching for them. All these kept up the interest from day to day, adding new fuel to the flames, and the enterprising reporters made the most of them. The two brakemen recovered, however, in a few days, but nearly a week had elapsed before the doctor, coming down from the room where Allan West lay, pronounced him out of danger. “Careful nursing is all he needs now,” he said, “and I know he’ll get that.” “You kin be sure of it,” said Mary. “This ain’t the first time he’s needed it an’ got it.” “I know that,” and the doctor smiled. “It was I, you know, who took that bullet out of him and who fixed those broken ribs. He’s surely had his share.” “An’ every time,” said Mary, with spirit, “it was a-doin’ some other man’s work—a-doin’ somethin’ he thought was his duty, where the other man would most likely have runned away.” * * * * * It was a very white and shaky, but thoroughly cheerful boy who smiled up at Mary Welsh five minutes later, when she mounted the stairs with the good news. “Though it’s more ’n you deserve,” she added, with simulated wrath; “for ever pokin’ your nose in where you ain’t no business to.” “What!” protested Allan, “would you have had me let those five poor fellows burn to death!” “No; but when they’s detective work t’ do, let the detective do it. What’s Stanley for?” “He was busy doing something else. And that reminds me—I must see him right away.” “Right away, indade!” cried Mary, with an indignant snort. “Next week, mebbe, if the doctor—” “Then I guess I’ll have to get up and hunt him,” said Allan, and made a movement as though to rise. “Lay still; lay still,” said Mary hastily, “an’ I’ll send fer him,” but Allan, smiling to himself, could hear her grumbling all the way down the stairs. Stanley lost no time in answering the summons, though Mrs. Welsh had tried to persuade him to refuse to come, or, at least, to postpone his visit until the next day.