were two anxious women-to receive
me, and the younger of them looked suspiciously as if she had been
crying. I told them something of the accident, how it all happened, and
about Miles's injuries. Both of them wanted to go right down and help
"do something," but I told them of the doctor's order and of his fears.

By this time the reporters came; and I called them into the parlor, and
then let them pump me. I detailed the accident in full, but declined to
tell anything about Miles or his history. "The fact is," said I, "that
you people won't give an engineer his just dues. Now, if Miles Diston
had been a fireman and had climbed down a ladder with a child, you would
have his picture in the paper and call him a hero and all that sort of
thing; but here is a man crushed, bleeding, with broken bones, and a
crippled engine, who stands on one foot, lashed to his reverse lever,
for eighty miles, and making the fastest time ever made over the road,
because he knew that others were suffering for the relief he brought."

"That's nerve," said one of the young men.

"Nerve!" said I, "nerve! Why, that man knows no more about fear than a
lion; and think of the sand of the man! This afternoon he sat up and
watched the doctor perform that amputation without a quiver; he wouldn't
take chloroform; he wouldn't even lie down."

[Illustration: "We carried him into the depot."]

"Was the amputation above or below the knee?" asked the reporter.

"Below" (I didn't state how far).

"Which foot?"

"Left."

"He is in no great danger?"

"Yes, the doctor says he will be a very sick man for some time--if he
recovers at all. Boys," I added, "there's one thing you might
mention--and I think you ought to--and that is that it is such heroes as
this that give a road its reputation; people feel as though they were
safe behind such men."

If Miles Diston had read the papers the next morning he would have died
of flattery; the reporters did themselves proud, and they made a whole
column of the "iron will and nerves of steel" shown in that "amputation
without ether."

Marie Venot was full of sympathy for Miles; she wanted to see him, but
Mrs. Bailey referred her to me, and she finally went home, still
inquiring every day about him. I don't think she had much other feeling
for him than pity. She was down again a week later, and I talked freely
of going to pick out a wooden foot for Miles, who was improving right
along.

Meanwhile, the papers