“Great!”

“And you married one of these Panamanicures, eh?” The father scowled.  “Lord!  I can trust you to make a fool of yourself.”

“Say, dad.  She’s only—­so big.”  Anthony Junior indicated his wife’s stature, smiling rapturously.

“Dwarf, eh?”

“Oh no!”

“Love her?”

“Do I?  It’s fierce.”

“Humph!  You’ll have to get over it.  I’ll pay your debts and take care of you, but I can’t stand a mulatto around me.”

“There aren’t any debts, and she’s not a mulatto.  She’s a—­dream.”

“They’re waiting, Mr. Anthony,” Clifford made bold to say.  “I think we’d better get this over with.”

Kirk paid little attention to the formalities of the next few minutes.  He was too busy with thoughts of his amazing good-fortune, his mind was too dazzled by the joy of freedom.  Allan appeared from somewhere and clung to him in an ecstasy of delight.  Colonel Jolson, Runnels, Anson, even the Panamanian officials shook hands with him.  He accepted their congratulations mechanically, meanwhile keeping very close to his father’s side.

Some time later he found himself out in the open sunlight a free man once more, with Darwin K. Anthony and Runnels on either side of him.  But before he had gone a block, he halted suddenly, saying: 

“Williams!  I’d forgotten him and his warrant.”

“He’s fixed,” Runnels explained.  “While your father and Mrs. Cortlandt and Colonel Jolson were getting you out of jail, Clifford and I told him the truth.  He’s rather a decent fellow.  They have caught the real Jefferson Locke, or whatever his name is.”

“No!”

“Yes; a week ago.  He landed in Boston; couldn’t stay away from his own country any longer.  Williams hadn’t heard of it.”

“What has become of Higgins?” Kirk inquired of his father.

Anthony Senior exploded: 

“Oh, he’s back scorching up the Tenderloin as usual, but you’ll have to cut him out, or I’ll leave you here.  That’s final, understand?”

“I intend to stay here, anyhow.”

“Huh?” The old man turned with a start.  “I’m damned if you do.”  Then, savagely:  “What do you suppose I came down here for?  I’m lonesome.  I want you to come home.”

Kirk smiled craftily and looked at Runnels.  “Well, what can you offer?  I’m doing pretty well as it is, and I can’t afford to lay off.”

His father in turn appealed to the Acting Superintendent.  “See!  It’s nothing less than blackmail.  Is he any good, Mr. Runnels?”

“If there weren’t so much politics in this job, he’d be Master of Transportation of the P. R. R. That’s doing pretty well, isn’t it?  We’re both going to quit and look for new work.”

“Do you drink, Kirk?”

“I haven’t even had an alcohol rub since I left New York.  But, dad, if you place me, you’ll have to take care of Runnels, too.  He knows more about railroads than—­you do.”