"Fire and water and poison gas; you'll pull through."
"You bet I will! Think of the yarn-spinning when I'm off duty! I can tell the wondering gunners that I saw the beginning of the idea, that I know the old son-of-a-gun who invented it. Nine o'clock."
"I'll be here," replied Hallowell, "waiting for you. Though I may turn in any time later than nine. So long."
Mathison went down the path. Half-way to the gate he turned and stared at the lighted windows. He could see the shadow of Hallowell's huge shoulders on the curtain. The dear old stick-in-the-mud! What would he do without some one to watch over him? He strode on, closing the gate behind him with a musical clang.
His tailoring required more time than he had made allowance for; the Chinaman hadn't made the coat-sleeves quite short enough. Thus, when he stepped off the trolley-car which bisected the street less than a quarter of a mile from the villa—a five minutes' walk, tonicky on glorious nights like this—it was nine-twenty by his wrist-watch.
He swung along with a jaunty stride, whistling the latest tune that had "come out," "Oh, boy, where do we go from here?" He felt like a butterfly that had just cut through its cocoon and found the world a pretty good place to live in. In two months' time he would have his drab little terrier under his sea-boots. But for the thought of leaving Bob behind, he would have been the happiest man on earth.
These cogitations came to an abrupt end. He stopped. A picture had flashed into range. A carriage, driven like mad, had swooped under an arc-light; and the vehicle was coming in his direction. A golden fog of dust rose up under the lamp. As there was another arc-light opposite to where he stood, Mathison decided to wait.
The carriage came thundering on. The driver was standing up. As it rattled past—on the two port wheels—Mathison had a glimpse of the passenger. A woman! And she was holding on for dear life. He gathered one vague impression—that she was young.
"What the dickens is her hurry?" He drew his hand across his chin. "No boat or train at this hour. Drunken Tagalog, probably. Too late for me to do anything."
He continued on. He began whistling another tune. "Where's the girl for me?"