w revolutions of her propeller when Bainbridge turned the key in the door of

ned clang of a gong; the tremulous murmur of the screw became more pronounced, and the vessel forged ahead until the current caught the outward-swinging prow. Fiv

gar and found a chair on the port side aft where he could sit and watch the lights wheel past in orderly p

ly parted. He was honestly sorry for Griswold; sorry, but not actually apprehensive. He had known the defeated one in New York, and was not unused to his rebellious outbursts against the accepted order of things. Granting that his theories were inc

greed in calling him Utopian, altruistic, visionary. What milder epithets should be applied to one who, with sufficient literary talent-not to say genius-to make himself a working name in the

e while it was in process of writing. But Griswold, being quite as obstinate as he was impressionable, had refused to profit by the advice, and now the consequences of his stubbornness were upon him. He had said truly that

t he smiled in spite of the regretful thought. It was amusing to figure Griswold, who, as long as his modest patrimony had lasted had been mos

for what he thinks he thinks," said the reporter, letting the thought slip into speech. "Just the same, I wish I had made hi

at hand to prove the trite narrowness of the world, and

himself and sat down. In appearance he was a cross between a steamboat captain on a vacation, and an up-river plantation o

step with you all the way from Chaudière's to t

know," said Bainbridge, laughing. "Can't you ever

as long, as you can forget that yo

end in the great river and the last outposts of the city's lights disappeared, leaving only a softened glow in the

ere telling good-by as you came out of the café? His face was

ht have at another time and under other conditions. From establishing Griswold's identity for his fellow passenger, he slipped by easy st

farthest hence," he added. "But in reality he is one of the finest fellows in the world, gone a fraction morbid over the economic side of the social problem. He h

my job if I didn'

ing his heart over the sodden miseries. One night he stumbled into a cellar somewhere down in the East Side lower levels, looking for a fellow he had been trying to find work for; a crippled 'longshoreman. When he got into the place he found the ma

s!" growled the l

save the mother. It was too late, and when the woman died he took the child to his own eight-by-ten attic and nursed and fed it until the missionary people took it

t?" was the gruff comment. "It's a howling pi

en twinge of remorse for having told Griswold's story to a

ou headed fo

teamboat captain or a plantation over

ewspaper man, do you? But I will-seeing you can't get it

ter? By Jove! you've foun

candle. I've been two years, off and on, trying to locate Mortsen: and now that I've found him, he is where he can't be extradited. All the same, I'l