“The lad’s in no shape to see you,” she said, over the telephone, “but I had t’ promise t’ tell you, or he’d ’a’ been climbin’ out o’ bed, an’ him scarce able t’ stand.” “I’ve got to come then, ma’am,” said Stanley politely, but with great positiveness. “I’ve got to obey my superior officer. Besides, I’ve pretty near got to see him, anyway. I was goin’ to come around in the mornin’ myself.” “Well, come on then, an’ bad cess to ye!” said Mary, and five minutes later he was at the door. “Now don’t you go to excitin’ the lad,” she added, before she let him in. “I won’t, ma’am,” Stanley promised meekly. “I’ll be a reg’lar soothin’ syrup. It’ll do him good to see me—it really will.” “Huh!” grunted Mary, “that’s more ’n it does me!” But she let him in reluctantly, and led him upstairs to Allan’s bedroom. “I’ll give you two ten minutes,” she announced, and closed the door behind her. Stanley, grinning, drew a chair up to the bedside and sat down. “Something of a Tartar,” he observed. “Yes, bless her, where I’m concerned. She’s the best woman on earth and the biggest hearted. Now, what’s the news?” “Well, sir,” said Stanley, crossing his legs deliberately, “this big sensation sort of took people’s minds off the strike, and the situation hasn’t been watched as close as it might have been. I’ve had to be away a good deal, attendin’ the hearin’ an’ lookin’ after things, and I kind of think some of the strikers got at our men.” “How could they do that?” “I suspect one of my men of givin’ us the double cross—I fired him to-day.” “But what makes you think the strikers got at the men?” “Well, three more pulled out yesterday without waitin’ fer their pay, and I hear they joined the brotherhood last night.” Allan’s face cleared. “If that’s all!” he said. “I guess we can spare three men. If no more than that leave us, it shows the men are pretty well contented. Has Mr. Schofield or Mr. Plumfield been here?” “No,” Stanley answered, “and from what I hear, they ain’t likely to be. They’ve both got their hands full. Somebody tried to set fire to the stock-yards the other night and pretty near succeeded—in fact, did start a lively blaze, but it was discovered and put out before much damage was done—and mighty lucky it was that the night wasn’t a windy one. But ever since, Mr. Schofield has had to patrol the whole approach to Cincinnati, a matter of five or six miles.” “Yes—and what about Mr. Plumfield?” “Well,” said Stanley, “the same night, one of the track walkers happened to find a big dynamite bomb on the Parkersburg bridge and dumped it over into the river just in time. That means more patrollin’ at that end.” “But who did it? Who started the fire and who placed the bomb?” “You can search me! The strikers say it wasn’t them, and the brotherhood is offering a reward of a thousand dollars for the arrest and conviction of the guilty parties. I guess, though, their money’s in no danger,” Stanley added, with a grin.