The great man smiled. "I see. Well, I think I can interest you. I've watched you play football, King. I played football, forty years ago. I like the breed. My boys are all girls, worse luck--though they're the finest in the world----" "Oh, _yes_," said Honor, warmly. "But I like boys. And I like you, Jimsy King." He held out his hand. "You come to me, and if you're the lad I think you are, you'll stay." "Oh, I'll come!" Jimsy stammered, flushed and incoherent. "I'll come! I'll--I'll sweep out or scrub floors--or--or anything! But--I'm afraid you don't----" he looked unhappily at Honor. "Yes, Jimsy. He's got to know." Jimsy King stood up very straight and tall. "You've got to know that I was kicked out of college two months ago, for marching in a parade against----" "For telling the truth," cried Honor, hot cheeked, "when a cowardly lie would have saved him!" "But just the same, I was kicked out of college, and----" "Lord bless you, boy," said the personage, and it was the first time they had heard him laugh aloud, "I know you were! And that's one reason why I want you. _So was I!_" CHAPTER XIII There were telegrams from Stephen Lorimer and the doctor; James King's condition remained unchanged. Honor and Jimsy decided to return at once, but Richard King flatly refused to let them go. The next train after Honor's had been held up just beyond Cordoba by a band of brigands, supposed to be a section of Villistas, the passengers robbed and mistreated and three of the train men killed. "Not a step without an escort," said Jimsy's uncle. Then Jimsy's new friend came to the rescue. He was eager to get home but cannily aware of his own especial risk,--two wealthy Americans having been recently taken and held for ransom. He had influence at the Capital; he wrote and telegraphed and the replies were suave and reassuring; reliable escort would be furnished as soon as possible,--within the week, it was hoped. Meanwhile, there was nothing for it but to wait. He went back to the _hacienda_ where he had been visiting, and life--the merry, lyrical life of _El Pozo_, moved forward. Jimsy's only woe was that he was condemned by her own decision to share Honor lavishly with his uncle and aunt and their friends and Carter. "Skipper, after all these years, leaving me for a darn' tea!" "Jimsy, dear," she scolded him, "you know that it's the very least I can do, now isn't it--honestly? Think how lovely she's been to us, and how much it means to her, having people here. And we've got all our lives ahead of us, Jimsy! Be good! And besides"--she colored a little and hesitated--"it's--not kind to Cartie." Then, at the sobering of his face, "You know he--cares for me, Jimsy, and I don't believe it's just cricket for us to--to sort of wave our happiness in his face all the time." He sighed crossly. "But--good Lord, Skipper,--he's got to get used to it!"