"My! I tell you I'll be glad to get home to-night."
The man from Steele's nudged my elbow:—
"My! I tell you I'll be glad to get home to-night. Won't the old woman's food taste slick to-night? You bet."
"The jury is discharged."
The play was over. The spectators were moving from the crowded room. At the door my friends were waiting for me. Hillary Cox stretched up a thin hand.
"Thank you, Van," she said.
"You fellows did just right," Hostetter added.
Slocum said nothing, but there was a dubious smile on his lips.
"We're going to blow you off for a dinner at the Palmer House, the best you ever ate," Dick Pierson called out loudly. Then he added for the benefit of the onlookers, "To hell with the anarchists!"
"Quit that!" I said sharply, some of those queer doubts about the justice of the act I had been concerned in returning to me. "It's over now, and let's drop it."