"Sure. But they wouldn't listen if he did. They're too busy getting money to send to the heathens in China, and the niggers in Africa to bother about the heathens and poor devils here. I'm pretty strong for Doc MacFarland, even though I don't get all he's talking about." "Say, Burke, the Doc got after me one day and gave me a string of books as long as your arm to read," put in Dexter. "He seems to think a cop ought to have as much time to read as a college boy!" "You let me have the list, Dexter, and I'll coach you up on it," laughed Burke. "To-day is your relief, Burke," said the Captain. "You can go up to the library and wallow in literature if you want to." Burke smiled, as he retorted: "I'm going to a better place to do my reading--and not out of books either, Cap." He changed his clothes, and soon emerged in civilian garb. He had never paid his call on John Barton, although he had been out of the hospital for several days. The old man's frequent visits to him in his private room at the hospital, after that first memorable meeting, had ripened their friendship. Barton had told him of a number of new ideas in electrical appliances, and Burke was anxious to see what progress had been made since the old fellow returned to his home. Officer 4434 was also anxious to see another member of his family, and so it was with a curious little thrill of excitement, well concealed, however, with which he entered the modest apartment of the Bartons' that evening. "Well, well, well!" exclaimed the old man, as the young officer took his hand. "We thought you had forgotten us completely. Mary has asked me several times if you had been up to see me. I suppose you have been busy with those gangsters, and keep pretty close since you returned to active service." Bobbie nodded. "Yes, sir. They are always with us, you know. And a policeman does not have very much time to himself, particularly if he lolls around in bed with a throb in the back of the head, during his off hours, as I've been foolish enough to do." "Oh, how are you feeling, Mr. Burke?" exclaimed Mary, as she entered from the rear room. She held out her hand, and Bobbie trembled a trifle as he took her soft, warm fingers in his own. "I'm improving, and don't believe I was ever laid up--it was just imagination on my part," answered Burke. "But I have a faded rose to make me remember that some of it was a pleasant imagination, at any rate." Mary laughed softly, and dropped her eyes ever so slightly. But the action betrayed that she had not forgotten either. Old Barton busied himself with some papers on a table by the side of his wheel-chair, for he was a diplomat.