Now and then one would come up, grab his well hand and pat his shoulder approvingly.

He seemed to be as much an object of interest as the daughter of the injured boss.
When Ruth gained the gate the wounded man laid his fingers on her gloved wrist.

The girl started back, peered into his face, and uttered a cry of relief.
"Mr.Breen!" For one wild moment a spirit of overwhelming joy welled up in her heart and shone out of her eyes.

Thank God he was not dead! "Yes, Miss Ruth,--what is left of me.

I wanted to see you as soon as you reached here.