He just groans and grabs hold of me like he was afraid I was goin' to get away. Why, the poor little cuss was so beat out and scared I couldn't get a word from him for half an hour. But after awhile I coaxed him to sit up on a stool and have a bite to eat, and when I've washed off some of the grime, and pulled out a few splinters from his hands, we gets a train back. First off I thought I'd 'phone Mr. and Mrs. Greene, but then I changes my mind. "Maybe it'll do 'em good to wait," thinks I. We was half way back when Gerald looks up and says, "You won't take me home, will you?" "What's the matter with home, kid?" says I. "Well," says he, and I could see by the struggle he was havin' with his upper lip that it was comin' out hard, "mother says father isn't a nice man, and father says I mustn't believe what she says at all, and--and--I don't think I like either of them well enough to be their little boy any more. I don't like being stolen so often, either." "Stolen!" says I. "Yes," says he. "You see, when I'm with father, mother is always sending men to grab me up and take me off where she is. Then father sends men to get me back, and--and I don't believe I've got any real home any more. That's why I ran away. Wouldn't you?" "Kid," says I, "I ain't got a word to say." He was too tired and down in the mouth to do much conversing either. All he wants is to curl up with his head against my shoulder and go to sleep. After he wakes up from his nap he feels better, and when he finds we're goin' back to my place he gets quite chipper. All the way walkin' up from the station I tries to think of how it would be best to break the news to him about the grand household scrap that was due to be pulled off the minute we shows up. I couldn't do it, though, until we'd got clear to the house. "Now, youngster," says I, "there's a little surprise on tap for you here, I guess. You walk up soft and peek through the door." For a minute I thought maybe they'd cleared out, he was so still about it, so I steps up to rubber, too. And there's Mr. and Mrs. Rutgers Greene, sittin' on the sofa about as close as they could get, her weepin' damp streaks down his shirt front, and him pattin' her back hair gentle and lovin'. "Turn off the sprayer!" says I. "Here's the kid!" Well, we was all mixed up for the next few minutes. They hugs Gerald both to once, and then they hugs each other, and if I hadn't ducked just as I did I ain't sure what would have happened to me. When I comes back, half an hour later, all I needs is one glance to see that a lot of private sleut's and court lawyers is out of a job. "Shorty," says Greene, givin' me the hearty grip, "I don't know how I'm ever goin' to----" "Ah, lose it!" says I. "It was just by a fluke I got on the job, anyway. That's a great kid of yours, eh?" Did I say anything about Primrose Park bein' a place where nothin' ever happened? Well, you can scratch that. XI WHEN ROSSITER CUT LOOSE