k smiling eyes on Magee. Kendrick
looked at her proudly, and spoke suddenly, determinedly:

"You're right, I will forget. She shall help me."

"Mr. Magee," said the girl, "I'm so pleased at the splendid end to your
impulsive philanthropy. I just knew the adventure couldn't have anything
but a happy ending--it was so full of youth and faith and--and charity
or its synonym. This mustn't be good-by. You must come and see me--come
and see us--all."

"I shall be happy to," answered Magee sincerely. "It will always be a
matter of regret to me that I was not able to serve you--also--on
Baldpate Mountain. But out of it you come with something more precious
than fine gold, and that shall be my consolation."

"Let it be," smiled Myra Thornhill, "as it is surely mine. Good-by."

"And good luck," whispered Magee, as he took Kendrick's hand.

Over his shoulder, as he passed to the platform, he saw them look into
each other's eyes, and he felt that the memory of the admiral's game
would in time cease to haunt David Kendrick.

A shadow had fallen upon the train--the shadow of the huge Reuton
station. In the half-light on the platform Mr. Magee encountered the
mayor of Reuton. Above the lessening roar of the train there sounded
ahead of them the voices of men in turmoil and riot. Mr. Cargan turned
upon Magee a face as placid and dispassionate as that of one who enters
an apple orchard in May.

"The boys," he smiled grimly, "welcoming me home."

Then the train came to a stop, and Mr. Magee looked down into a great
array of faces, and heard for the first time the low unceasing rumble of
an angry mob. Afterward he marveled at that constant guttural roar, how
it went on and on, humming like a tune, never stopping, disconnected
quite from the occasional shrill or heavy voices that rang out in
distinguishable words. The mayor looked coolly down into those upturned
faces, he listened a moment to the rumble of a thousand throats, then he
took off his derby with satiric politeness.

"Glad to see one and all!" he cried.

And now above the mutterings angry words could be heard, "That's him,"
"That's two-hundred-thousand-dollar Cargan," "How's the weather on
Baldpate?" and other sarcastic flings. Then a fashion of derisive
cat-calls came and went. After which, here and there, voices spoke of
ropes, of tar and feathers. And still the mayor smiled as one for whom
the orchard gate swung open in May.

A squad of policemen, who had entere