have not slept or eaten. And now you are
going to be imprisoned. It isn't just!"

I tried to speak lightly, to reassure her.

"Don't be unhappy about that," I said. "A nice, safe jail, where one
may sleep and eat, and eat and sleep--oh, I shall be very comfortable!
And if you wish to make me exceedingly happy, you will see that they
let me have a razor."

But, to my surprise, she buried her face in her arms. I could not
believe at first that she was crying. The policeman had wandered
across to the other rail, and stood looking out at the city lights, his
back to us. I put my hand out to touch her soft hair, then drew it
back. I could not take advantage of her sympathy, of the hysterical
excitement of that last night on the Ella. I put my hands in my
pockets, and held them there, clenched, lest, in spite of my will, I
reach out to take her in my arms.

CHAPTER XIX

I TAKE THE STAND

And now I come, with some hesitation, to the trial. Hesitation,
because I relied on McWhirter to keep a record. And McWhirter, from
his notes, appears to have been carried away at times by excitement,
and either jotted down rows of unintelligible words, or waited until
evening and made up his notes, like a woman's expense account, from a
memory never noticeable for accuracy.

At dawn, the morning after we anchored, Charlie Jones roused me,
grinning.

"Friend of yours over the rail, Leslie," he said. "Wants to take you
ashore!"

I knew no one in Philadelphia except the chap who had taken me yachting
once, and I felt pretty certain that he would not associate Leslie the
football player with Leslie the sailor on the Ella. I went reluctantly
to the rail, and looked down. Below me, just visible in the river mist
of the early morning, was a small boat from which two men were looking
up. One was McWhirter!

"Hello, old top," he cried. "Or is it you behind that beard?"

"It's I, all right, Mac," I said, somewhat huskily. What with seeing
him again, his kindly face behind its glasses, the cheerful faith in me
which was his contribution to our friendship,--even the way he shook
his own hand in default of mine,--my throat tightened. Here, after
all, was home and a friend.

He looked up at the rail, and motioned to a rope that hung there.

"Get your stuff and come with us for breakfast," he said. "You look as
if you hadn't eaten since you left."

"I'm afraid I can't, Mac."

"They're not going to hold you, a