“What is it?” asked Mrs. Magraw, looking over his shoulder.
“That,” answered Reddy, slapping the page with his open hand—a page overflowing4 with heavy headlines and further embellished5 with a group of photographs. “Now who’d ’a’ thought that anybody would iver want t’ put my ugly mug in the paper?”
“Sure ’tis no uglier than lots of others,” protested Mrs. Magraw, gazing at it fondly.
“Mebbe so; but this here picter don’t look nothin’ like what I see when I looks in the glass.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Magraw, examining it critically, “it ain’t jest what I’d call a perfect likeness6; but the eyes are yours an’ the nose an’ the mouth.”
“If they are, they ain’t put together right,” said Reddy. “I’ve often wondered how a criminal could git away when the papers all over the country was printin’ his picter, but I understand now. If I’d done somethin’ an’ was runnin’ away an’ was arrested on suspicion, I could prove by that picter that they’d got the wrong man.”
“Well, anyways,” said Mrs. Magraw, “we gits half a dozen cabinets fer lettin’ ’em take it.”
“’Twas real generous,” agreed Reddy. “But I wish they was of the baby. I niver thought that I’d iver ag’in face a cammery. The last picter I had took, darlint, was whin I was courtin’ ye.”
“Yes, an’ I’ve got it yet, as ye know,” said Mrs. Magraw, “an’ a love of a picter it is.”
“All that I raymimber about it is that me pants was very tight an’ me shoes was killin’ me,” said Reddy, with a smile of reminiscence. “However, I was ready an’ willin’ to suffer any torture—even to cuttin’ off me toes if ye thought me feet too big.”
“As if I iver looked at yer feet! It was in your honest blue eyes that I looked, Reddy Magraw, an’ nowheres else.”
“Well, I reckon we didn’t either of us make no mistake, darlint,” said Reddy comfortably. “We ain’t niver been bothered by a bank account, ’tis true; but nayther have we starved or gone naked.”
Mrs. Magraw patted him on the shoulder as a token of her approval of the sentiment.
“Let’s see the other picters,” she said. “There’s Jack7 Welsh an’ Stanley—trust him t’ have his picter ready.”
“But where’s Allan?”
Reddy chuckled again.
“Didn’t have none; neither did Mamie—at least, that’s what they said. But that didn’t trouble most o’ the papers none. They jest went ahead an’ made ’em up. One feller must ’a’ cut his picter o’ Mamie out of a fashion paper, an’ another used one of them skinny magazine girls, with their hair all a-flyin’ around their faces. An’ Allan—he looks like one of them young hayroes from the ready-made suit advertisements.”
“An’ does that look like the house?” asked Mrs. Magraw, indicating a building, with smoke and flames pouring from it in a truly terrifying manner, which further ornamented9 the newspaper’s account of the rescue.
“Well,” said Reddy, cautiously, “it does in a gineral way. It’s got four walls an’ a roof an’ some windeys. Furder ’n that I wouldn’t keer t’ go.”
“An’ have ye read the story?”
“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 liar10 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 amazement11, “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’ confession12, the lapse13 into violent insanity14 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.”
“I know that,” and the doctor smiled. “It was I, you know, who took that bullet out of him and who fixed15 those broken ribs16. 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 thoroughly17 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 wrath18; “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 grumbling19 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 postpone20 his visit until the next day.
“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 meekly21. “I’ll be a reg’lar soothin’ syrup22. It’ll do him good to see me—it really will.”
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 deliberately24, “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 brotherhood25 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 contented26. 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 mighty27 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 dynamite28 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.
“You mean you think the strikers did it?” asked Allan, quickly.
“I don’t suppose anybody’s doin’ it fer their health.”
“But if that’s their game, what’s to prevent them from blowing up a bridge or culvert somewhere out on the line any time they want to? We can’t guard the whole right of way.”
“There ain’t a thing on earth to prevent them,” answered Stanley, cheerfully. “You know as well as I do, that there never is any thing to prevent any tramp or bum29 or scoundrel blowin’ up a bridge at any time—but they never do—at least, mighty seldom, though to hear some of ’em talk, you’d think all they wanted was half a chance t’ blow up the whole world. So I don’t look for anything of that sort now. In the first place, scoundrels of that kind won’t operate far from a base of supplies, which means a grog-shop. An’ in the second place, they’ve got to operate in a mob, for they’re the biggest cowards on earth—and that means a big town. I take back what I said a while ago. I don’t think the strikers put that bomb on the bridge—I think it was some Russian or Italian anarchist30 from the Parkersburg coal mines or steel works. There’s plenty of ’em there. An’ I ain’t so dead sure they started the stock-yards fire, either. I had a talk with Simpson, their special delegate, yesterday, and he seems to be a pretty decent sort of feller. I really believe he’s tryin’ to prevent trouble, and I could see that he was considerable down in the mouth about the strike. I think he’s gittin’ cold feet and would be glad to back out, if he could. I figger it out this way—the brotherhood’s split up. The old, conservative men, headed by Simpson, want to avoid trouble; the young, hot-headed ones, headed by Bassett, are sp’ilin’ for a fight. And they’re roundin’ up all the toughs they can find to help them.”
“Well,” said Allan, with a sigh of relief, “they won’t be able to find many here to help them, and that’s a blessing31!”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” said Stanley; “but I don’t think there’ll be any trouble here—not for a few days, anyway.”
“A few days?” echoed Allan. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean,” answered Stanley, slowly, “that I don’t like the looks of things. There’s too many strangers in town.”
“Too many strangers?”
“Yes—too many strangers. Why, the saloons are full of the toughest lookin’ lot of men you ever saw. Where’d they come from—that’s what I want to know—and what’s their business—and who’s payin’ for their whiskey?”
“I don’t understand you yet, Stanley,” said Allan, a little impatiently. “Tell me straight out what you’re afraid of.”
“I’m afraid that them fellers are bein’ brought in here to cause trouble,” answered Stanley, bluntly. “And I believe that Bassett’s at the bottom of the whole thing. And furthermore I believe he’s got that little devil of a Hummel helpin’ him.”
“Hummel? Have you seen him?”
“Seen him! I guess not! If I did, I’d have him behind the bars so quick ’twould make his head swim. But I’ve got to have some more men, and the trouble is that the more I get, the more danger there is of gettin’ some strike sympathizers among them. I think I’d better patrol the yards and track clear through to the city limits.”
“So do I,” Allan agreed. “I’d keep everybody out of the yards and off the right of way who hasn’t business there. And if there’s any sign of trouble, let me know at once.”
“I will,” Stanley promised; “I’m mighty glad to have somebody to talk things over with. I’ve felt like I was goin’ to bust32 the last few days. And I’m glad you’re gettin’ better.”
“Thank you,” Allan answered. “It’s just a question now of getting my strength back.”
“Well, don’t you worry none; let me do that,” and the detective took his leave, much to the satisfaction of Mrs. Welsh, who had been fuming33 outside the door for the last five minutes, without daring to break in upon the conversation.
“And now,” said Allan, cheerfully, when she returned from showing Stanley out, “I wish you’d call Tom Murray, our chief lineman, and tell him I want my instrument put on a board, so that I can use it here in bed. Of course,” he added, as Mary frowned mutinously34, “I could get up and go over there to the table, but I thought maybe you’d rather I stayed in bed.”
“Yes,” said Mary grimly, “it’ll save us the trouble o’ puttin’ you there after you’ve kilt yerself,” but she went and summoned the lineman, and in half an hour, the little instrument was removed from the table to a board, and Allan was working it with his left hand, for his right arm was incapacitated by reason of the broken collar-bone.
Ever since the day when he and Jim Anderson had rigged up a little private line for the study of telegraphy, he had kept an instrument in his room, connected with headquarters, so that he could be called at any hour of the night, without anyone else in the house being disturbed. For he had long since acquired that sixth sense of the telegrapher, which responds to its call, even though its possessor may be sound asleep, and awakens36 him much as an alarm clock might.
So now, with the instrument under his hand, he first called up the offices and had a little chat with the dispatcher who was looking after his work as chief—work which was not exacting37 since traffic was so light; and then, calling Cincinnati, he asked for Mr. Schofield. But Mr. Schofield was out somewhere, and Allan was forced to content himself for the time being with the assurance of the man who answered him that everything seemed to be all right.
He pushed the instrument away, at last, and lay back on the pillow, wearier than he cared to confess, realizing how far from strong he was. The shock of his terrible experience was one from which he would probably be long in completely recovering, but he set his teeth and resolved that he would not be chained to his bed an instant longer than was absolutely necessary.
He dozed38 off, after a time, half-sleeping, half-waking, and Mary, opening the door and glancing in at him, closed it softly and went away. He heard her and smiled to himself and sank deeper among the pillows.
It was not exactly a dream that he had as he lay there—it was rather a vision—a living over again of the incidents of that terrible day—living them over, though, calmly; looking at them from the outside, as though they were happening to someone else. He saw himself struck down in the empty stable; saw his assailant stoop above him, and finally, after reconnoitring to make sure he was not observed, drag his victim to the house, in through the back door, and up the stairs to a room on the floor above.
He saw himself lying there unconscious, and fear gripped his heart lest he might die there without awaking; but the still figure stirred presently, and opened its eyes. In the cellar beneath the house, he could see a dim shape moving about, illumined only by the light of a dirty lantern. It was gathering39 a pile of rubbish together and adding to it some rotten boards which it tore from some shelving in one corner. Then the figure mounted to the ground floor and collected a similar heap there; then to the floor above, where it entered the room in which he lay. He heard himself talking to it, questioning it, heard its savage40 responses; then he saw it go out and shut the door and proceed to another room near by where five figures lay bound upon the floor. They cursed it, railed at it, implored41 it; but the fiend only laughed sardonically42 and left them.
Then it descended43 leisurely44 to the floor below, and from a cupboard produced some scraps45 of food, which it proceeded to consume, after which it returned to the stable, extinguished the lantern, lay down upon its bed of straw and slept. How long it slept, Allan could not tell, but at last it arose, gathered the straw under one arm, and with the lantern swinging from the other hand, returned to the house. A portion of the straw was added to the pile of rubbish in the cellar, and the rest of it to the pile on the floor above. Then, the idiot opened the lantern and poured over the pile the kerosene46 which remained in it. Finally, with a devilish leer, he struck a match and touched it to the straw.
For a moment he sat feeding the flames carefully, his face more demoniac than ever in the red shadows which danced over it. Then, closing the door, he proceeded to the cellar and set fire to the rubbish there, and, finally, left the house and sat down on a little hummock47 of earth outside. Allan watched the flame grow and grow, the straw throwing off a dense48 cloud of smoke as it burned; he saw himself awaken35, crawl to the door, along the hall, to the stairs; saw himself pitch headforemost through the darkness—
“Mamie!” he cried. “Mamie!”
And he started awake to find Mamie’s arms about him, and her dear face above him—
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收听单词发音
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1
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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2
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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3
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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4
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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5
embellished
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| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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7
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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8
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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14
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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15
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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16
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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18
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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23
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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27
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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28
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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29
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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30
anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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31
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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32
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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33
fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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mutinously
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| adv.反抗地，叛变地 | |
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35
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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awakens
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的第三人称单数 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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37
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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38
dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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40
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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41
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
sardonically
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| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
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43
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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44
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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45
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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46
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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47
hummock
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| n.小丘 | |
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48
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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