“Ye are me prisoner,” said McDermott, “an' the furst wan I iver took. Hould up y'r hands! Hould thim up, I say! Not over y'r stomach, man, but over y'r head!” The Boche complied hurriedly. “I see ye understhand United States,” said McDermott. “I was afraid ye might not, an' I w'u'd have to shoot ye.” “_Kamerad!_” exclaimed the man. “Ye are no comrade av mine,” said McDermott, peering at the man's face through the eery halflight of early morning, “an' comrade av mine ye niver was! I know ye well! Ye are Goostave Schmidt b' name, an' wanst ye tinded bar in a dive down b' the Brooklyn wather front!” The man stared at McDermott in silence for a long minute, and then recollection slowly came to him. “MagDermodd!” he said. “Batrick MagDermodd!” “The same,” said McDermott. “_Gott sei dank!_” said the German. “I haf fallen into der hands of a friend.” And with the beginning of a smile he started to lower his hands. “Put thim up!” cried McDermott. “Don't desave y'silf! Ye are no fri'nd av mine!” The smile faded, and something like a look of panic took its place on the German's face. “Th' last time I saw ye, ye was in bad company, f'r ye was alone,” said McDermott. “An' I come over here lookin' f'r ye, an' I find ye in bad company ag'in!” “Looking?” said the German with quite sincere perplexity. “You gome here _looking_ for me?” The wonder on the man's face at this unpremeditated jest of his having crossed the Atlantic especially to look for Gustave Schmidt titillated McDermott's whole being. But he did not laugh, and he let the German wonder. “And phwy sh'u'd I not?” he said. The German thought intensely for a while. “Why _should_ you gome all der vay agross der Adlandic looking for _me?_” he said finally. “Ye have a short mimory,” said McDermott. “Ye do not recollict the time ye hit me on the head wid a bung starter whin I was too soused to defind m'silf? The scar is there yet, bad luck to ye!” “But dot was nudding,” said the German. “Dot bung-starder business was all a bart of der day's vork.” “But ye cript up behint me,” said McDermott; “an' me soused!” “But dot was der bractical vay to do it,” said the German. “Dot was nuddings at all, dot bung-starder business. I haf forgodden it long ago!” “The McDermotts remimber thim compliments longer,” said McDermott. “An' b' rights I sh'u'd give ye wan good clout wid this gun and be done wid ye. But I'm thinkin' I may be usin' ye otherwise.” “You gome all der vay agross der Adlandic yoost because I hit you on der head mit a bung starder?” persisted the German, still wondering. “Dot, MagDermodd, I cannot belief--_Nein!_” “And ye tore up y'r citizenship papers and come all the way across the Atlantic just to jine this gang av murtherin' child-killers,” said McDermott. “That I c'n belave! Yis!”