“I’m aching some,” Allan answered, “but I’m going home to bed now. Everything is well in hand. I guess there’s no further danger of trouble.” “Wait a minute,” came the answer. Allan waited until his instrument began again to call him. “All right,” he said. “This is Round,” chattered the instrument. “Schofield has just been telling me. I want to congratulate you—and order you to take at least a month’s vacation.” “I guess I’ll wait till my honeymoon,” answered Allan, and laughed to himself at the thought. “Are you engaged?” “Yes. Tell Mr. Schofield I’ve taken his advice.” “When is it to be?” “Don’t know yet.” “Well, mind you ask me.” “I will.” “And here’s my best wishes, my boy. Now go home and go to bed. I’ll be at Wadsworth in a day or two, and will tell you then what I think about your work.” “All right; thank you. Good-bye.” Allan closed his key with a click, and as he did so, he was conscious of a throng around his desk. He looked up to see all the employees on duty and some who weren’t on duty, but who had been got out of bed by the disturbance, crowding around him. “Shake!” they said. “Of course we heard that,” and Allan gripped one hand after another, his eyes shining. “Thank you, boys,” was all he could say. “Thank you.” * * * * * He rejoined Jack and Reddy, at last, at the foot of the stairs. “Just one more errand and then I’m ready to go home,” he said. “Seems to me they allers is one more,” rejoined Jack. “What is it now?” “The fellow who blew up the freight-house wants to see me.” “The fellow who blew up the freight-house? Have you got him?” “Yes; Stanley nabbed him and has got him over there in the freight office. I guess he’s kept it quiet for fear the fellow’d be mobbed.” “An’ that’s more sense than Stanley usually shows,” said Reddy. “Who is the varmint?” “His name’s Hummel—you’ll remember him, Jack.” “Did I iver see him?” “He’s the fellow who ran after me across the yards that night—” “An’ tried t’ knife ye,” added Jack, his face flushing darkly. “Bad cess to him. What’s he want with ye now?” “Stanley thinks maybe he wants to confess.” “More likely he wants to take a shot at you. Don’t you go, Allan.” “Oh, nonsense, Jack,” laughed Allan. “He’s under arrest. He can’t harm me, even if he wants to. There he is now,” he added, as a little procession emerged from the freight office. Stanley had seen Allan coming across the tracks, and anxious to have the interview over and get his prisoner away before any hint of his identity should get about, had brought him out, surrounded by three or four officers. The crowd had melted away considerably, and what there was left of it was either watching the last embers of the fire, or inspecting the ruined freight-house. So the little group came out into the yards unnoticed, and stopped in the shadow of the building until Allan and his two friends came up.