"But when the city gets you--" The Captain's tone had changed. "When it gets you, there's no turning back. The noise, the rush, the excitement of life that flows on and on like a torrent--it _gets_ you, and you never, never turn back. "Remember the story of poor old Lot?" "Yes, I remember." Johnny knew that great old book. "I've always felt sorry for Lot." The Captain chuckled. "Country chap come to the city to live. Got his wife turned to salt, he did. Lost about all he had. But he couldn't help it. City got him. Sodom got him. Chicago's got you and me, Johnny. And Chicago won't let us go until they bring us out to some spot like the one we passed a mile from here, and put us away where the hemlocks sing and sigh over the marble that is white in the moonlight. "So we'll fight on, Johnny." He prodded the fire. "We won't accomplish much. No one ever does. But we'll do our bit--do it like men. "But, Johnny--" He rose and stretched himself. "It helps to come out here now and then where I have known so much peace. Just to sit by this old, cracked stove, to listen to the whisper of the wind, the song of the tree toads and the whoo-whooting of some owl, and dream I am a boy again, just a boy. Ah, son, that's good. "We'll go back to the city in a little while," he went on after a time. "Get a good bed somewhere in town. "And that reminds me, Johnny. I want you out here on Christmas Eve. We'll make up a party and stay all night. Hang up our stockings just as we boys used to do. We'll bring out Drew and Tom, Joyce Mills, Mrs. LeClare and Alice; yes, and Spider--only we'll have a whole turkey for Spider," he chuckled. "We--we'll have a grand time Christmas Eve and all day Christmas. And such a dinner! I've bought a turkey, twenty-five pounds, Johnny. "Come in here." He took up a kerosene lamp and led the way into a second small room. "This was our parlor. Only lit the fire on Sundays. Such Sundays as those were! Happy days, Johnny! Happy days!" "But what's this?" Johnny asked suddenly. "Surely this does not belong to those days." "No." There was a queer look on the Captain's face. "Fellow I know, man I would trust with my life, asked permission to put that in here." They were looking at a two-foot wide reflector such as was to be found in Johnny's room in the "House of Magic." "He said," the Captain went on, "that if the time came when I was badly needed in the city, a message would come to me through that thing. How? I can't say. Up until now it hasn't uttered a squawk. It--" Suddenly Johnny held up a hand. There was no need. The Captain was listening with all his ears, for, into that room there on the lonely prairie, had stolen a whisper. "Captain Burns!" The words were very distinct. "I wish to inform you that a packet of stolen bonds you are seeking have been sold to Joseph Gregg of 3200 South Kemp Street. Gregg is an honest man. But back of him--" The whisper faded. "That," exclaimed the Captain, "is all I need to know!"