"There!" said Celia.
And, as she spoke, George Mackintosh gave a kind of snorting groan and
sat up. Celia uttered a sharp shriek and sank on her knees before him.
George blinked once or twice and looked about him dazedly.
"Save the women and children!" he cried. "I can swim."
"Oh, George!" said Celia.
"Feeling a little better?" I asked.
"A little. How many people were hurt?"
"Hurt?"
"When the express ran into us." He cast another glance around him.
"Why, how did I get here?"
"You were here all the time," I said.
"Do you mean after the roof fell in or before?"
Celia was crying quietly down the back of his neck.
"Oh, George!" she said, again.
He groped out feebly for her hand and patted it.
"Brave little woman!" he said. "Brave little woman! She stuck by me all
through. Tell me--I am strong enough to bear it--what caused the
explosion?"
It seemed to me a case where much unpleasant explanation might be
avoided by the exercise of a little tact.
"Well, some say one thing and some another," I said. "Whether it was a
spark from a cigarette----"
Celia interrupted me.
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