Millicent hurried from her father’s side, and flung her arms about the sorry figure of her lover; and Jim Hockson, finding his pathway impeded, raised his eyes, and then blushed violently.
“Sorry for you, sir,” said one of the detectives, touching his hat to Mr. Botayne, “but can’t help being glad we got a day ahead of you.”
“What amount of money will buy your prisoner?” demanded the unhappy father.
“Beg pardon, sir—very sorry, but—we’d be compounding felony in that case, you know,” replied one of the officers, gazing with genuine pity on the weeping girl.
“Don’t worry,” whispered the colonel in Mr. Botayne’s ear; “we’ll clean out them two fellers, and let Tarpaulin loose again. Ev’ry feller come here for somethin’, darn it!” with which sympathizing expression the colonel again retired.
“I’ll give you as much as the bank offers,” said Mr. Botayne.
“Very sorry, sir; but can’t,” replied the detective. “We’d be just as bad then in the eyes of the law as before. Reward, five thousand, bank lose twenty-five thousand—thirty thousand, in odd figures, is least we could take. Even that wouldn’t be reg’lar; but it would be a safe risk, seeing all the bank cares for’s to get its money back.”
Mr. Botayne groaned.
“We’ll make it as pleasant as we can for you, sir,” continued the detective, “if you and the lady’ll go back on the ship with us. We’ll give him the liberty of the ship as soon as we’re well away from land. We’d consider it our duty to watch him, of course; but we’d try to do it so’s not to give offense—we’ve got hearts, though we are in this business. Hope you can buy him clear when you get home, sir?”
“I’ve sacrificed everything to get here—I can never clear him,” sighed Mr. Botayne.