Allan, stopping close to Hummel, saw that he was handcuffed, and therefore incapable of doing any one harm. He seemed bent and shrunken and only half-conscious, as though on the verge of collapse. “Well, Hummel,” he said, “you wanted to see me?” Hummel lifted his eyes and stared at him coldly, for an instant, as though not recognizing him; then his eyes brightened with rage. “Yes,” he said, thickly, “I wanted t’ see you. I hope you’re satisfied with this night’s work.” “Why, yes,” said Allan with a smile. “Don’t you think I have reason to be? Have you anything to tell me?” “Yes,” said Hummel, his face growing more livid still, as he glared at the other. “It’s this—I’ll be in hell to-night an’ so will you!” And he suddenly raised his handcuffed hands. Allan was dimly conscious of a heavy form hurling itself past him, of a close grapple, of an instant’s pause broken only by oaths and hoarse shouting; he seemed to see Reddy Magraw grappling with the anarchist; then the world was blotted out in a white flash of flame. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXIX THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER MARY WELSH and Mamie, hurrying with anxious hearts and pallid cheeks, not daring to think of what awaited them, toward Chestnut’s drugstore, in answer to Jack’s summons, were met outside the little triangular frame building from which the drugstore stared out upon the tracks, by Jack himself, his face gray and lined with suffering and self-accusation. “Wait a minute,” he said, hoarsely, and Mary, reading the suffering in his eyes, put her hand quickly upon his arm. “How is he?” “I don’t know yet. The doctor’s just finishin’ with him.” And then his self-control gave way, and a great sob shook him. “A nice guardeen I am, ain’t I?” he asked, bitterly. “Oh, I could go an’ throw myself under the wheels of that engine there!” “Don’t, Jack!” protested Mary, quickly. “Don’t take it so. Whatever happened wasn’t your fault.” “Yes, it was! I stood by like a dumb beast an’ let Hummel—Kin ye ever forgive me, Mamie? Oh, but I’m shamed t’ look ye in the eyes!” “Forgive you, dad?” cried the girl, her heart smitten as she looked at him. “Why, dad, there’s nothing to forgive. I know you did your best.” “Not like Reddy Magraw,” said Jack, the tears streaming down his face. “Not like Reddy Magraw. Do you know what he did—he saw that varmint fumblin’ at his pocket, an’ he must have guessed what was comin’—I was lookin’, too, but I never thought of nothin’ like that—an’ Reddy jumped fer him an’ grabbed him—an’ jest then the bomb went off—” “He’s dead, ain’t he, Jack?” asked Mary. “Yes,” said Jack, with a hoarse sob, “an’ so’s Reddy Magraw—an’ if our boy lives, it’ll be because of Reddy, not because o’ me. That’s what it makes me sick t’ think of!” “Reddy dead!” gasped Mary, the tears starting to her eyes. “Does—”