Sam, following his enemy at a more moderate pace, was burdened by a peculiar sense of helplessness. He was troubled by no doubts of the justice of his cause; but he was annoyed and perplexed by the obstacles Fate threw in his way. They were the harder to consider philosophically because he was quite sure that he was obeying his new rule of Safety First, and that Orkney’s guilt was clearly established. At the same time he had to admit that Tom had offered valid grounds for delaying combat. Altogether the case struck him as one of difficult application of entirely sound principles. As he turned a corner, however, he forgot Orkney for a little; for within a dozen yards of him he beheld two men in conversation. And one of the men was Major Bates. The other was Peter Groche. Sam almost halted. He gazed in surprise at the two. The Major had never appeared to be straighter, or fiercer, or more bristling; while Groche’s slouch was never more pronounced. The ne’er-do-well was listening sulkily to the Major’s very energetic remarks, occasionally growling a brief reply to the veteran. As it chanced, Sam had not met the Major since the night he had made confession. A glance was enough to show that he had nearly recovered from the effects of his wounds; and the ear testified that the vigor of his speech was in no wise abated. After a second’s hesitation Sam advanced. As he neared the men, Groche, seeming, of a sudden, to catch sight of him, wheeled and shuffled off, growling as he went. The Major swished his cane, as if he regretted that it might not descend upon the retreating legs. Then he, too, saw the boy, and the severity of his expression lessened a trifle. “Ah, young man!” he said. “Ah, good-morning!” “Good-morning, sir,” said Sam. The Major tapped the sidewalk smartly with his cane. “I’m out of hospital. Am I to regard myself as in receipt of your felicitations?” “’Deed you are, sir!” Sam assured him with unfeigned warmth. The Major’s eyes twinkled. “Mutually satisfactory state of things, eh? I’m pleased myself. Fact is, I’m so overflowing with good will this morning that I’ve been trying to improve that vagabond.” “Yes, sir,” said Sam. “By Jove! but I fancy I made it clear even to his befuddled wits that there is no profit in persistently remaining a social liability. I warned him that if he didn’t mend his ways he’d end in state’s prison. Big, hulking brute like that’s liable, some time, to commit a felony.” Sam glanced at the retreating Groche. The fellow _was_ big and hulking, and brutish as well--an ugly customer, in short. “Has he been bothering you again, sir?”