She found her mother awaiting her in the dining-room, and they sat down together and—waited. There is no harder task, and as the weary minutes dragged along, they dared not look at each other, lest their self-control slip from them. So half an hour passed, until Mrs. Welsh could stand it no longer. “I’m going to git some news,” she said, and went to the telephone, but central could tell her little more than she already knew, for everything was confusion as yet at the scene of the outrage. The dispatchers’ office was busy and refused to answer any call. So Mary hung up the receiver again and came back to Mamie. “I’ll try again after a while,” she said, and again they nerved themselves to wait. But not for long. For suddenly, the telephone rang sharply. “I’ll go,” said Mary, and Mamie sat where she was, clutching blindly at her chair, biting her lips until the blood came. “He’s not hurt!” she said, over and over to herself. “He’s not hurt! He’s not hurt! It can’t be! It sha’n’t be! He’s not hurt!” “Is that you, Mary?” asked Jack’s voice. “Yes; what’s the matter?—your voice don’t sound natural.” “The boy’s hurted,” said Jack, his voice breaking in a sob. “Bring Mamie an’ come quick.” “Where to?” “To Chestnut’s drugstore. I can’t tell you, Mary, but fer God’s sake, come quick!” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXVIII HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD ALLAN, as he turned into the street before the house, was caught by a fierce gust of wind, whirled against a tree at the edge of the pavement, and would have fallen, had not a strong arm grasped him about the waist. “Sure, an’ ’tis a reg’lar hurricane,” shouted a well-known voice, and Allan found himself gazing into the cheerful face of Reddy Magraw. “Why, Reddy,” he cried, “what are you doing here?” “I was sent after you,” Reddy explained, “an’ it was well I was—ye niver could have got up there by yerself.” “Nonsense!” Allan protested. “I’m nearly as strong as I ever was. That gust caught me unprepared, that’s all. Come on.” He didn’t ask who it was had sent Reddy, but supposed of course it was Stanley. “I’ll jest hold on to yer arm, anyways,” said Reddy. “Is this the well one?” “Yes; hold on to it, if you want to; maybe it’ll keep you from being blown away;” but to himself Allan was forced to confess more than once that Reddy’s arm was a welcome support. For he was weaker than he had thought—weaker than he was willing to acknowledge, even to himself. As for Reddy, he judged it best to say nothing as to how he had come to be appointed Allan’s body-guard. He had been routed out of bed by Mrs. Magraw at the first explosion. Across the yards from their front window they could see the flames spreading, and Reddy jumped into his clothes in a hurry.