“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.”
“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 bust 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 fuming 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 mutinously, “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 awakens him much as an alarm clock might.