othes
man stood with his back toward the door, and he seemed to be in no
especial haste to attract the attention of the bartender. As they gave
their order for drinks, Hugh saw Grace, in his mind's eye, slipping from
the carriage and off into the crowd--and every fibre of his heart was
praying for success to attend her flight. He found himself talking
glibly, even volubly to the watcher, surprised that he could be doing it
with his mind so full of other thoughts.

"Awful night to be out. I'd hate to have a job like yours," he was
rattling on, heaving intermittent breaths of relief as he saw the size
of the drink the other was pouring out for himself.

"I've been at it for twelve years. I don't mind anything just so it
helps to make a comfortable home for the old lady and the kids."

"Ah, the kids," said Hugh, grasping at the subject as if it were the
proverbial straw. "How I love kids! How many have you?"

"Four. The oldest is ten."

"They're worth working for, I'll bet. Nothing like children. How many
have you?"

"Four," said the officer, looking at him in surprise.

"I'm a little deaf," explained Hugh, recovering himself quickly. "I
thought you said ten."

"No; the oldest is ten. Yes; they're worth slaving for. I've hung onto
this job all these years just because it might go hard with 'em if I
gave it up and tried something else."

Hugh looked into the sober, serious face and a lump flew to his throat.
It struck him as probable that this man was to lose his position the
next morning. A sort of pity assailed Ridgeway for an instant, but he
put it away resolutely.

After all, he had Grace to think of and not the children of the
plain-clothes man.

They had a second drink and it fired his brain with a gleeful desire for
action. The plain-clothes man shivered as he swallowed the fiery stuff.
He looked thin and haggard and ill, a condition which Hugh, in his
hatred, had failed to observe until this moment.

"You certainly have a home and some money saved up by this time," he
said, trying to suppress the eager gleam in his eyes.

"We've had lots of sickness and it's taken nearly everything. Besides,
I've been too d---- honest. It's my own fault that I haven't a big wad
put away."

"What is your name?" demanded Hugh suddenly.

"Friend."

"I understand all that. But what is your name?"

"That's it--George Friend--Street Station."

"Oh, I see." Hugh also saw the picture of this poor fellow as he stood