"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 far and near copied the articles about the "Hero
of the Throttle," and the item about the road's interest in heroes
attracted the attention of our general passenger agent--he liked the
free advertising and wanted more of it--so he called me in one day, and
asked if I knew of a choice run they could give Miles as a reward of
merit.
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