"Put it on again," I murmured, moved by his vehemence. It was certainly agreeable to hear such words from Dibdin, who never lied. Praise is a savory dish, not a thing that my misspent life has been surfeited with, and it was exquisitely soothing to one’s vanity. But it was clear enough that Dibdin was wrong. His usually lucid view was obscured by the tangle of circumstances that weighed upon him. Naturally, I could not leave him in his error. "If you knew," I managed to stammer, "the malignant fear that is eating my liver white, you—" "Fear of what?" he broke in. "Of turning those kids over to him;" I lowered my voice—"just that and—nothing else." "Just that," he repeated gloomily, nodding his head. "Who would have supposed it? By the Lord! If ever there was a bull in a China shop, I am that bull. Why the devil did I ever pick the brute up? Look here!" he flashed with sudden inspiration, "why not deport him as we imported him, eh? I might manage it—I might!" "No—no, Dibdin—neither you nor I would do such a thing." "Why not?" he growled. "That would make us—worse than he is, or was," I explained sadly. For I must own that for an instant my heart leaped at his suggestion. "Besides," I went on prosily, "it’s not so easy to lay a ghost when once you’ve raised it. We’ve got to believe him, Dibdin, my boy—if only for the young ones’ sake. He will probably get his job, and the thing to do now is not to arouse his suspicion of how we feel about him. Believe everything he says—believe in him. Thousands every year, according to the newspapers, turn up willfully missing! He was tired of the humdrum life and lit out; that is all there was to it. Now he wants to try back. You yourself thought he ought to have another chance." There was genuine pathos in old Dibdin’s voice when he spoke out with a humid somber look: "By George, that chap’s the Nemesis of us all! By his one willful act of destructive irresponsibility he has affected all our lives destructively. It’s maddening that one worthless brute should be able to do all that. He killed Laura, damn him; he orphaned these kids; he’s upset your life—he makes wretched conspirators of you and me—g-r-r-r! I’d like to pound him to a jelly!" I laughed joylessly. "What would that undo?" "Nothing, I dare say," snapped Dibdin. "Besides, you really have no complaint, boy. You tower, Randolph, my lad; yes, by George! you tower head and shoulders above any one I know! His very villainy has made you over—blown the breath of life into you." I believe I answered something flippant. "Look here!" he cried, with a sudden movement upsetting a glass of water and disregarding it. "If those kids go over to him, we can keep an eye on him—just the same—as though we were with them!" "How d’you mean?" I queried, puzzled. "That girl—what’s her name—Alicia! She’ll keep an eye on him—and them. She’s sharp, I tell you, with her innocent blue eyes. Give you a daily report like—like—"