“Friend of yours?” “I knew him in college. If the paper weren't so sure about it, I'd say it was a mistake. He never did it himself--he hasn't any money, to begin with. Somebody's using him for a cat's-paw, plain enough; but I'd like to know how the Moses he ever got hold of a snap like that?” Halloran shook his head over it. “Do you ever read Mark Twain?” “I have--some.” “Do you remember the story of the bad little boy that got rich and went to Congress, and died universally respected?” “Never read that.” “Well, it makes me think of Apples. The two poorest skates we had in college are turning out about the same way. The other fellow was a lazy beggar from down in Indiana. Came up to college to play baseball, but he didn't have grit enough to make the team. He never got anywhere in his work--spent three years in his fourth year Academy, I believe, before he gave it up. And no one ever knew how he lived. But one of the directors of a big steel company used to live out there, and this fellow scraped up money enough to buy a dress suit and join the local club, and took to playing billiards and drinking with the director's son, and finally got invited around to meet the family. Now he's the assistant secretary of the steel company, and has announced his engagement to the director's daughter. Enough to make you wonder a little sometimes, isn't it?” The office door opened, just then, so abruptly that they both started. Looking up, they saw Captain Craig standing in the doorway, hatless, holding an open letter in his hand. He looked straight at Halloran as if he saw nothing else in the office. “I want to see you,” he said. At the odd sound of his voice, Crosman got up without a word and brushed by him into the outer office, gently pushing the door to behind him. “Sit down, Captain,” said Halloran. The Captain took the chair by the desk. “I went up to the house to see the Old Gentleman, but they wouldn't let me in.” “No; he is not allowed to see anybody. Will I do?” Craig seemed not to hear the reply. “I got a letter just now--and I wondered if I couldn't get away for a little while--I guess I won't be needed on the steamer?” “Certainly not.” “I got a letter this morning--I didn't know as I read it straight--I haven't got my glasses with me-----” It seemed difficult for him to speak naturally, and he paused, staring at a glass paper-weight on the desk. His seamed, harsh old face was working. “My God! Mr. Halloran,” he broke out, “I don't hardly dare believe it! Here, read it.” Halloran took the letter and read what follows: “_Father_: I have waited a long, long time, and now I'm tired and I want to come home. You were right always--it was all a mistake. Now when I look back there are some parts of it that are like dreams to me. Do you think you could forgive me? Do you think you could let me come back and take care of your house for you?