"Yis! Poor woman! And she belaives it, too, so she do. But says I to myself, says I, some blackguard thaif has sthole the little sunbeam of her heart, which do be nearly broken entirely, so it do!" and Smith turned his head away to hide the tears that came unbidden to his eyes.

"Do you think so?"

"I do."

"Do you?"

"I do, by me faith, I do, and ave I could lay me hands on the wan who is raysponsible fer it, sure there'd be somethin' doin'!"

Sam had slim faith in George Golda calling at the police station to claim the medal, but he believed it possible to locate him by diligent and discreet inquiry. With that idea he beckoned Smith into a lobby of an adjacent building, which at that early hour was untenanted, and produced the medal from his vest pocket. Handing it to Smith, he said guardedly, "I found it in the City Park this morning."

"Sure I can't rade Frinch at all, at all!" said Smith, examining the bronze.

"It's a Garibaldi medal. I can trust you with it?"

"Phwat d'yees mane?" Smith responded with a snap.

"This," and Sam added confidentially in a low voice, "circulate among the shanties and scow dwellers below the North Pacific mill. Show the medal, prudently, mind, but never let it pa.s.s out of your hands."

"I want!" responded Smith, thrusting it in his inside coat pocket. "Be it raysponsible for yees hurt?"

"Of that--well, no matter--I fear where the fellow who lost the bronze lives--there will be found the little one." Sam had spoken in a voice so soft and low and grave that it startled Smith.

During the pause that followed, he looked at Sam in steadfast amaze.

"Do yees belave it?" he finally asked.

"I do!"

"Sure, yees do be after me own hart. I tould thim some thaivin'

blackguard----"

"Hush!" Sam interrupted, "not so loud. If a fellow by the name of George Golda claims it"----

"George Golda!" repeated Smith.

"Yes; if George Golda claims it bring him to me. If he will not come, track him, and let me know where he lives as soon as possible. Do it quietly."

"Sure, I will that. D'yees think he's the wan?" whispered Smith, intensely interested.

"We shall see," replied Sam. "But don't part with the bronze. You will remember?"

"I will, be me soul, I will, and be the token ave it, I'll"--and Smith spat on his hands and made other significant manifestations quite understandable to descendants of a fighting nation.

Immediately thereafter Sam continued on to Simms' office, and there, closeted with the detective, related his experience.

Twenty minutes later, a quiet, una.s.suming, seedy-looking man carelessly lounged about in the vicinity of the Plaza fountain, and no matter what position he occupied, or where he loitered, express No.

346 and its driver never escaped from his sight.

CHAPTER X.

The sun had traversed half the distance from the horizon to the zenith when Rutley called at Rosemont for information concerning the seriousness of Sam's injuries, and incidentally to have a chat with Hazel, for he was very fond of the girl.

"We appreciate your lordship's anxiety to learn of Sam's condition, and I am sure Sam will express to you his gratefulness for promptly bringing him home," added Mrs. Harris.

"I am glad he is able to be about," continued Rutley, looking at the floor, "though I should imagine a few days of quiet rest after such a vigorous shake-up would be attended by beneficial results."

"I am sure of it," said Mr. Harris; "for immediately he regained consciousness there seemed to come over him a worry about something--"

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Harris, in surprise. "I cannot conceive Sam being worried about anything."

"Nevertheless, my dear, the boy did appear worried last night, or rather early this morning, and though he spoke and acted quite rational, still it has given me much concern." Again turning to Rutley, "And imagine my astonishment, too, when on going to his room early this morning I found he had gone."

"He hadn't even been in bed--had evidently not undressed--just flung himself down on the couch."

"You don't apprehend the wound exerts undue pressure on the brain?"

queried Rutley, in the most carefully studied manner, as he looked meaningly at Mr. Harris.

"James, you should have insisted on the doctor remaining with the dear boy over night."

"My dear, Sam would not listen to it. I think nervousness and a gloriously fresh morning urged him to an early walk, and his return has been delayed by meeting some friends."

"Quite likely," responded Rutley.

"If Sam continues to worry, I shall advise a trip to Texas. The bracing air of that lat.i.tude has heretofore proven very beneficial to his const.i.tution."

"A happy idea, Mr. Harris," and the grave, concerned look that had settled on Rutley's face relaxed and vanished in a smile of cunning satisfaction, as he thought how agreeable it would be to have that troublesome fellow out of the way. "I have crossed that country and can testify to the purity, dryness and health invigorating quality of its air. Indeed, I do not think you could suggest a more wholesome vacation than a month of rollicking, free life on the Texas plains."

"A trip to Texas may all be very well in its way, but I know something of the dear boy's malady and believe that no climatic change, temporary or prolonged, can be of the least benefit to him,"

impressively broke in Mrs. Harris.

"Well, well! Now I do remember that when a boy Sam fell and severely hurt his left knee; and so the old complaint is a.s.serting itself again, eh? You see, Your Lordship"----

"Dear me! How stupid men are!" interrupted Mrs. Harris, with much dignity.

"Ah! James, the dear boy's affliction is of deeper moment. It lacerates the very source and fountain of life. It is, I may add, an affair of the heart."

"Oh! You don't tell Sam is--is--ahem, ahem!"--and to suppress a smile Mr.

Harris coughed.

"It is possible you misconceive your most estimable lady's meaning,"