Part 40 (2/2)
”I couldn't swim exactly,” he retorted as he surveyed the miry trail indicated by Miss Duckman, ”so I guess I'll walk along the railroad.”
”You could do that, too,” Miss Duckman said, ”_aber_ I ain't allowed to, on account the rules of the Home says we shouldn't walk along the tracks.”
Harris raised his eyebrows.
”You don't mean to told me you are one of them indignant females?” he exclaimed.
”I belong in the Home,” Miss Duckman replied, colouring slightly, and Rudnik felt himself being overcome by a wave of remorse for his bluntness. He therefore searched his mind for a sufficiently gruff rejoinder, and finding none he shrugged his shoulders.
”Well,” he said at last, ”there's worser places, lady.”
Miss Duckman nodded.
”Maybe,” she murmured; ”and anyhow I ain't so bad off as some of them other ladies up there which they used to got husbands and homes of their own.”
”Ain't you a widder, too?” Rudnik asked, his curiosity again getting the upper hand.
”I ain't never been married,” Miss Duckman answered as she drew her shawl primly about her.
”Well, you ain't missed much,” Rudnik declared, ”so far as I could see.”
”Why,” Miss Duckman exclaimed, ”ain't you never been married, neither?”
Rudnik blinked solemnly before replying.
”You're just like a whole lot of ladies,” he said; ”you must got to find out everything.” He turned away and stepped briskly on to the railroad track.
”But ain't you married?” Miss Duckman insisted.
”No,” he growled as he started off. ”_Gott sei dank._”
For a brief interval Miss Duckman stood and watched his progress along the ties, and then she gathered her parcels more firmly in her arms and began to negotiate the quagmire that led to the Home. She had not proceeded more than a hundred feet, however, when a locomotive whistle sounded in the distance.
”Hey, mister!” she shouted; but even if Rudnik heard the warning it served only to hasten his footsteps. Consequently the train was almost upon him before he became aware of it, and even as he leaped wildly to one side the edge of the cowcatcher struck him a glancing blow. Miss Duckman dropped her bundles and plunged through the mud to where Rudnik lay, while the train, which was composed of empty freight cars, slid to a grinding stop a short distance up the track.
She was kneeling recklessly in the mud supporting Rudnik with both her hands when the engineer and the fireman reached them.
”Is your husband hurted bad?” the engineer asked Miss Duckman.
The tears were rolling down Miss Duckman's worn cheeks, and her lips trembled so that she could not reply. Nevertheless, at the word ”husband” her maidenly heart gave a tremendous bound, and when the engineer and the fireman lifted Rudnik gently into the caboose her confusion was such that without protest she permitted the conductor to a.s.sist her carefully up the car steps.
”Sit ye down on that stool there, lady,” he said. ”As far as I can see your man ain't got no bones broken.”
”But----” Miss Duckman protested.
”Now, me dear lady,” the conductor interrupted, ”don't ye go worritin'
yerself. I've got me orders if anybody gets. .h.i.t be the train to take him to the nearest company's doctor in the direction I'm goin'. See?
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