The next moment I was over the barrier, and we were hand in hand.
“My poor old man!” I cried.
“Thank God, you're home at last!” he gulped, and kept patting my shoulder with his hand.
“I've no good news for you, Jim!” said I.
“You've come—that's the good news that I want,” he replied. “O, how I've longed for you, Loudon!”
“I couldn't do what you wrote me,” I said, lowering my voice. “The creditors have it all. I couldn't do it.”
“Ssh!” returned Jim. “I was crazy when wrote. I could never have looked Mamie in the face if we had done it. O, Loudon, what a gift that woman is! You think you know something of life: you just don't know anything. It's the GOODNESS of the woman, it's a revelation!”
“That's all right,” said I. “That's how I hoped to hear you, Jim.”
“And so the Flying Scud was a fraud,” he resumed. “I didn't quite understand your letter, but I made out that.”
“Fraud is a mild term for it,” said I. “The creditors will never believe what fools we were. And that reminds me,” I continued, rejoicing in the transition, “how about the bankruptcy?”