kled,
painted lips, "I know nothing whatever about this affair. You must ask
my son Jack, gentlemen--my son Jack--te-he!--oh, yes, he knows; he can
tell you a thing or two, I warrant you! Yes, gentlemen, he's like all
the Dysarts--fit for a fight or a frolic!--te-he!--he's all Dysart,
gentlemen--my son Jack. But he is a good son to me--yes, yes!--a good
son, a good son! Tell him I said so--and--good-night."

"Nutty," whispered a policeman. "Come on out o' this boodwar and lave
th' ould wan be."

And they left him smirking, smiling, twitching his faded lips, and
making vague sounds, lying there asleep in his dotage.

And all night long he lay mumbling his gums and smiling, his sleep
undisturbed by the stir and lights and tramp of feet around him.

And all night long in the next room lay his son, white as marble and
very still.

Toward morning he spoke, asking for his father. But they had decided to
probe for the bullet, and he closed his eyes wearily and spoke no more.

They found it. What Dysart found as the winter sun rose over Manhattan
town, his Maker only knows, for his sunken eyes opened unterrified yet
infinitely sad. But there was a vague smile on his lips after he lay
there dead.

Nor did his slayer lie less serenely where bars of sunlight moved behind
the lowered curtains, calm as a schoolboy sleeping peacefully after the
eternity of a summer day where he had played too long and fiercely with
a world too rough for him.

And so, at last, the indictments were dismissed against them both and
their cases adjourned _sine die_.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE PROLOGUE ENDS

"Your sister," observed Dr. Bailey to Scott Seagrave, "must be
constructed of India-rubber. There's nothing whatever the matter with
her spine or with her interior. The slight trace of concussion is
disappearing; there's no injury to the skull; nothing serious to
apprehend. Her body will probably be black and blue for a week or two;
she'll doubtless prefer to remain in bed to-morrow and next day. And
that is the worst news I have to tell you."

He smiled at Kathleen and Duane, who stood together, listening.

"I told you so," said Scott, intensely relieved. "Duane got scared and
made me send that telegram. I fell out of a tree once, and my sister's
symptoms were exactly like mine."

Kathleen stole silently from the room; Duane passed his arm through the
doctor's and walked with him to the big, double sleigh which was
waiting. Scott fo