“Aye--there on th' Spot of Life. A bit of a thrick as th' ould doc dug oot o' his wisdom. Sure, she dinna work jist loike he said it, but 'twas a plenty t' oopset th' pretty Senestro!” Watson asked, “What became of the Senestro?” “Sure, they pulled him oot. Th' wee doggie jist aboot had him done for. Bedad, she's a good pup!” “What kind of a dog?” “A foine wan, sor, wit a bit stub av a tail. An' she's that intelligent, she kin jist about talk Frinch. Th' Thomahlians all called her th' Four-footed, an' if they kape on, they'll jist aboot make her th' Pope.” Watson was still thick headed. “I don't understand!” “Nor I laddie. But th' ould doc does. He's got a foine head for figgers; and' he's that scientific, he kin make iron oot o' rainbows.” “Iron out of--what?” “Rainbows, sor. Faith, 'tis meself thot's seen it. And he's been watchin' over ye ever since ye came. 'Twas hisself, lad, that put it into your head t' call him th' Jarados.” “You don't mean to say that the professor put those impulses into my head!” “Aye, laddie; you said it. He kin build up a man's thoughts just like you or me kin pile oop lumber. 'Tis that deep he is wit' th' calculations!” Watson tried to think. There was just one superlative question now. He put it. “I dinna know if he's th' Jarados,” was the reply. “But if so be not, then he's his twin brother, sure enough.” “Is he a prisoner?” “I wouldna say that, though there's them as think so. But if it be anybody as is holdin' him, 'tis the Senestro an' his gang o' guards.” Watson looked at the other's uniform, at the purple shako on his head, the jewelled weapon at his side, and the Jaradic leaf on his shoulder--insignia of a Bar of the highest rank. “How does it come that you're a Bar, and a high one at that?” The other grinned again. He took off his shako and ran his hand through his mop of red hair. “'Tis aither th' luck of th' Irish, me lad, or of th' Scotch. Oi don't ken which--Oi'm haff each--but mostly 'tis th' virtoo av me bonny red hair.” “Why?” “Because, leastways, in th' Thomahlia, there's always a dhrop av royalty in th' red-headed. Me bonnie top-knot has made me a fortune. Ye see, 'tis th' mark av th' royal Bars themselves; no ithers have it.” Watson said: “If you have come from Dr. Holcomb, then you must have a message from him to me.” “Ye've said it; you an' me, an' a few Rhamdas, an' mebbe th' wee queen is goin' t' take a flight in th' June Bug. We're goin' afther th' ould doc; an' ye kin bet there'll be as pretty a scrap as ever ye looked on. An' afther thot's all over, we're goin' t' take anither kind of a flight--into good old Frisco.” Chick instantly asked Pat if he knew where San Francisco might be. “Faith, 'tis only th' ould doc knows, laddie. But when we git there, 'tis Pat MacPherson that's a goin' for Toddy Maloney.” “I don't know that name.” “Bedad, I do. Him it was thot give me th' dhrink.” “What drink?”