“Very good. We must watch him, then. Just as soon as a message comes, if it does arrive, one of us--myself--must see John and inveigle him out of the room, while you fall in with the colonel and distract his attention.” “Count on me to do my best. Both of us are interested now in avoiding a scene on account of our prospective relations with Samson Cereal. There now, don’t give up, Aleck. Ah! he comes.” “Who--the messenger boy?” “Pshaw! no, it’s John.” The young man has entered the room. He makes a decidedly striking appearance, for, although not quite six feet in height, his figure is that of an athlete. Aleck takes to him on sight. “What a shame such a young god should have descended to the rôle of a defaulter,” mutters Wycherley in the Canadian’s ear. Aleck does not reply. He has the queerest feeling pass over him--a flush succeeded by a chill. It is hard to believe this fine, frank looking man can be a fugitive from justice, but strange things happen in this life, and we grow accustomed to many facts which at first seem impossible. Samson Cereal goes to him, his eager hand outstretched, his eye kindled with emotion. They meet close to where our friends stand. “My boy, is the past forgiven? I have learned of my wretched mistake, and stand here ready to tell you how sorry I have been,” is what the father says in a husky voice. His hand is taken in a strong clasp. “Say no more, father. The past is forgotten. Let us never speak of it again. I have come to-night because Dorothy bade me, God bless her! Take me to her, sir.” Then they move off. The expected scene does not materialize, but speedily it is noised about that Samson Cereal’s son is in the room. Few of his Chicago acquaintances knew he had a son, and much surprise ensues; but when John is introduced a little flutter spreads among the fair buds and those who have been in the market several seasons, such a flutter as the advent of a new and very desirable catch must always cause. Aleck keeps an eye on Colonel Bob. That remarkable personage seems to be quite amused at the coming of John. He is accustomed to seeing daring games played by the men whom he has business with, and there are times when he can admire the nerve that is needed to carry them through. All the while he keeps one eye on the door. There is not a moment that he does not expect a message of some sort, letter or telegram, having left instructions behind for either coming to his address to be delivered at once. There are other elements in the game which Aleck has not forgotten, and he is forcibly reminded of this fact. Standing by himself in a portion of the rear parlor or music room, while Cereal is proudly introducing his stalwart son to many of his friends, Aleck is positive he hears a long-drawn sigh, and then the whispered words: “God bless him!” He turns his head.