It was past seven o'clock when Kirk, bending over the wheel, withMamie at his side came in sight of the shack. The journey had beenchecked just outside the city by a blow-out in one of the back tyres.

　　Kirk had spent the time, while the shirt-sleeved rescuer from thegarage toiled over the injured wheel, walking up and down with a cigar.

　　Neither he nor Mamie had shown much tendency towards conversation.

　　Mamie was habitually of a silent disposition, and Kirk's mind was toofull of his thoughts to admit of speech.

　　Ever since he had read Steve's telegram he had been in the grip of awild exhilaration. He had not stopped to ask himself what this madfreak of Steve's could possibly lead to in the end--he was satisfied tofeel that its immediate result would be that for a brief while, at anyrate, he would have his son to himself, away from all the chillingsurroundings which had curbed him and frozen his natural feelings inthe past.

　　He tried to keep his mind from dwelling upon Ruth. He had thought toomuch of her of late for his comfort. Since they had parted that day ofthe thunder-storm the thought that he had lost her had stabbed himincessantly. He had tried to tell himself that it was the best thingthey could do, to separate, since it was so plain that their love haddied; but he could not cheat himself into believing it.

　　It might be true in her case--it must be, or why had she let him gothat afternoon?--but, for himself, the separation had taught him thathe loved her as much as ever, more than ever. Absence had purified himof that dull anger which had been his so short a while before. Helooked back and marvelled that he could ever have imagined for a momentthat he had ceased to love her.

　　Now, as he drove along the empty country roads, he forced his mind todwell, as far as he could, only upon his son. There was a mist beforehis eyes as he thought of him. What a bully lad he had been! What funthey had had in the old days! But that brought his mind back to Ruth,and he turned his mind resolutely to the future again.

　　He chuckled silently as he thought of Steve. Of all the mad things todo! What had made him think of it? How had such a wild scheme everentered his head? This, he supposed, was what Steve called punchinginstead of sparring. But he had never given him credit for theimagination that could conceive a punch of this magnitude.

　　And how had he carried it out? He could hardly have broken into thehouse. Yet that seemed the only way in which it could have been done.

　　From Steve his thoughts returned to William Bannister. He smiled again.

　　What a time they would have--while it lasted! The worst of it was, itcould not last long. To-morrow, he supposed, he would have to take thechild back to his home. He could not be a party to this kidnapping raidfor any length of time. This must be looked on as a brief holiday, notas a permanent relief.

　　That was the only flaw in his happiness as he stopped the car at thedoor of the shack, for by now he had succeeded at last in thrusting theimage of Ruth from his mind.

　　There was a light in the ground-floor window. He raised his head andshouted:

　　"Steve!"The door opened.

　　"Hello, Kirk. That you? Come along in. You're just in time for the mainperformance."He caught sight of Mamie standing beside Kirk.

　　"Who's that?" he cried. For a moment he thought it was Ruth, and hishonest heart leaped at the thought that his scheme had worked alreadyand brought Kirk and her together again.

　　"It's me, Steve," said Mamie in her small voice. And Steve, as he heardit, was seized with the first real qualm he had had since he hadembarked upon his great adventure.

　　As Kirk had endeavoured temporarily to forget Ruth, so had he tried notto think of Mamie. It was the only thing he was ashamed of in the wholeaffair, the shock he must have given her.

　　"Hello, Mamie," he said sheepishly, and paused. Words did not comereadily to him.

　　Mamie entered the house without speaking. It seemed to Steve thatinvective would have been better than this ominous silence. He lookedruefully at her retreating back and turned to greet Kirk.

　　"You're mighty late," he said.

　　"I only got your telegram toward the end of the afternoon. I had beenaway all day. I came here as fast as I could hit it up directly I readit. We had a blow-out, and that delayed us."Steve ventured a question.

　　"Say, Kirk, why 'us,' while we're talking of it? How does Mamie come tobe here?""She insisted on coming. It seems that everybody in the house was awayto-day, so she tells me, so she came round to me with your note.""I guess this has put me in pretty bad with Mamie," observed Steveregretfully. "Has she been knocking me on the trip?""Not a word."Steve brightened, but became subdued again next moment.

　　"I guess she's just saving it," he said resignedly.

　　"Steve, what made you do it?""Oh, I reckoned you could do with having the kid to yourself for aspell," said Steve awkwardly.

　　"You're all right, Steve. But how did you manage it? I shouldn't havethought it possible.""Oh, it wasn't so hard, that part. I just hid in the house, and--butsay, let's forget it; it makes me feel kind of mean, somehow. It seemsto me I may have lost Mamie her job. It's mighty hard to do the rightthing by every one in this world, ain't it? Come along in and see thekid. He's great. Are you feeling ready for supper? Him and me was justgoing to start."It occurred to Kirk for the first time that he was hungry.

　　"Have you got anything to eat, Steve?"Steve brightened again.

　　"Have we?" he said. "We've got everything there is in Connecticut! Why,say, we're celebrating. This is our big day. Know what's happened?

　　Why--"He stopped short, as if somebody had choked him. They had gone into thesitting-room while he was speaking. The table was laid for supper. Achafing-dish stood at one end, and the remainder of the available spacewas filled with a collection of foods, from cold chicken to candy,which did credit to Steve's imagination.

　　But it was not the sight of these that checked his flow of speech. Itwas the look on Mamie's face as he caught sight of it in the lamplight.

　　The White Hope was sitting at the table in the attitude of one who hasheard the gong and is anxious to begin; while Mamie, bending over him,raised her head as the two men entered and fixed Steve with a balefulstare.

　　"What have you been doing to the poor mite?" she demanded fiercely, "toget his face scratched this way?"There was no doubt about the scratch. It was a long, angry red linerunning from temple to chin. The White Hope, becoming conscious of thefact that the attention of the public was upon him, and diagnosing thecause, volunteered an explanation.

　　"Bad boy," he said, and looked meaningly again at the candy.

　　"What does he mean by 'bad boy'?""Just what he says, Mamie, honest. Gee! you don't think _I_ doneit, do you?""Have you been letting the precious lamb _fight_?" cried Mamie,her eyes two circles of blue indignation.

　　Steve's enthusiasm overcame his sense of guilt. He uttered a whoop.

　　"_Letting_ him! Gee! Listen to her! Why, say, that kid don't haveto be let! He's a scrapper from Swatville-on-the-Bingle. Honest! That'swhat all this food is about. We're celebrating. This is a little suppergiven in his honour by a few of his admirers and backers, meaning me.

　　Why, say, Kirk, that kid of yours is just the greatest thing that everhappened. Get that chafing-dish going and I'll tell you all about it.""How did he come by that scratch?" said Mamie, coldly sticking to herpoint.

　　"I'll tell you quick enough. But let's start in on the eats first. Youwouldn't keep a coming champ waiting for his grub, would you? Look howhe's lamping that candy.""Were you going to let the poor mite stuff himself with candy, SteveDingle?""............