The city guard unbent as the kindly voice yielded such undefiant obedience to his demand. "You can leave it with me now,--I 'm off my beat by seven, and live over east of this--" he handed back the card--"and I 'll leave it at the house if you 're going to be there."
"All right, that 'll suit me. Yes, I 'm goin' to put up there for a day or two, maybe."
"Off on a hunting trip?"
"You bet--goin' on a big, old, U.S.A. hunt for a lot of darned foreigners in Cuby."
The policeman held out his hand and grasped the stranger's. "You're one of them?"
"Yes, I come down to join a cavalry regiment. Jack Sherrill, he belongs, too. Great rider--can't be beat. Ever seen him round here on Little Shaver?"
The policeman smiled. "No, but I 'd like to see you again--"
"Maybe you will; but I 'd better be getting along before sundown,--'gainst the law to ride this horse a piece through those woods?" He pointed into the Park.
"Oh, no, that's all right. Keep along till you come to Seventieth Street, and inquire; and then turn into Fifth Avenue--east--and you're there."
"Much obliged. Like to show you a trail or two up in Vermont when you come that way. Get, Fleet." The animal set forward into a long, loping gallop.