A moment later Detective Sergeant Flannagan ventured a
rearward glance to note how Byrne was receiving the joyful
tidings which the newspaper article contained.
"Well, I'll be!" ejaculated the sleuth, for Billy Byrne was
already a hundred yards away and breaking all records in his
dash for the sitting-room he had quitted but a few minutes
before.
It was a happy and contented trio who took the train the
following day on their way back to New York City after
bidding Bridge good-bye in the improvised hospital and exacting
his promise that he would visit them in New York in the
near future.
It was a month later; spring was filling the southland with
new, sweet life. The joy of living was reflected in the song of
birds and the opening of buds. Beside a slow-moving stream a
man squatted before a tiny fire. A battered tin can, half filled
with water stood close to the burning embers. Upon a sharpened
stick the man roasted a bit of meat, and as he watched it
curling at the edges as the flame licked it he spoke aloud
though there was none to hear:
Just for a con I'd like to know (yes, he crossed over long ago;
And he was right, believe me, bo!) if somewhere in the South,
Down where the clouds lie on the sea, he found his sweet Penelope
With buds of roses in her hair and kisses on her mouth.
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