"Ricks, that is pretty bad news from Middletown, isn't it?" he
observed.
"Bad news? What do you mean?" demanded the station master, as he
threw some more waste paper on the fire, which he had just lit.
"About that dynamite being stolen by train wreckers. They think
some of the explosive was brought up here."
"Didn't hear of it."
"Dynamite is pretty bad stuff to have around, so I've heard."
"Awful! Awful! I never want to see any of it," answered Ricks,
with a decided shake of his head.
"If it goes off it's apt to blow everything to splinters," went on
Dick.
"That's so -- I don't want any of it," and the old man began to
gather up more waste paper for his fire. Watching his chance,
Torn threw one of the firecrackers into the blaze and then
rejoined his brothers.
With a handful of paper Ricks again approached the blaze. He was
standing almost over it when the firecracker went off, making a
tremendous report and scattering the light blazing paper in all
directions.
"Help! I'm killed!" yelled old Ricks, as he fell upon his back.
"Get me away from here! There's dynamite in this fire!" And he
rolled over, leapt to his feet, and ran off like a madman.
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