me."

"Be gorry, the town's gittin' big, an' that's another reason. The last
time I seen ye, ye wuz wid that Sweet Cap'ral lad, an' I knocked yer two
sassy heads tergither for yez. Remember that?"

"Yes," laughed Tom, "and then I started running down the street and
hollered, 'Throw a brick, you Irish mick!'?"

"Ye did," vociferated Pete, "an' wid me afther ye."

"You didn't catch me, though," laughed Tom.

"Wal, I got ye now," said Pete, grabbing him good-naturedly by the
collar. And they sat down on the back of the truck to talk for a few
moments.

"I'm glad I came this way," said Tom. "I usually go down Main Street,
but I've been away from Bridgeboro so long, I thought I'd kinder stroll
through this way to see how the town looked. I'm not in any particular
hurry," he added. "I don't have to get to work till nine. I was going to
walk around through Terrace Court."

"Ben away on a ship, hev ye?" questioned Pete, and Tom told him the
whole story of how he had given up the career of a hoodlum to join the
Scouts, of the founding of Temple Camp by Mr. John Temple, of the
summers spent there, of how he had later gotten a job on a steamer
carrying supplies to the allies; how he had helped to apprehend a spy,
how the ship had been torpedoed, how he had been rescued after two days
spent in an open boat, of his roundabout journey back to Bridgeboro, and
the taking up again of his prosaic duties in the local office of Temple
Camp.

The truckman, his case-spike hanging from his neck, listened with
generous interest to Tom's simple, unboastful account of all that had
happened to him.

"There were two people on that ship I got to be special friends with,"
he concluded. "One was a Secret Service man named Conne; he promised to
help me get a job in some kind of war service till I'm old enough to
enlist next spring. The other was a feller about my own age named
Archer. He was a steward's boy. I guess they both got drowned, likely.
Most all the boats got upset while they were launching them. I hope that
German spy got drowned."

"Wuz he a German citizen?" Pete asked.

"Sure, he was! You don't suppose an American citizen would be a spy for
Germany, do you?"

"Be gorry, thar's a lot uv German Amiricans, 'n' I wouldn' trust 'em,"
said Pete.

"Well, there's some Irish people here that hate England, so they're
against the United States too," said Tom.

"Ye call me a thraiter, do ye!" roared Pete.

"I didn't call you anyt