"Well—" the other boy choked up and could not continue.
"The law, punishment, prisons and all that, as I understand it," said Curlie thoughtfully, "have but one purpose: to teach people what other folks' rights are and to encourage them in respecting them. It's my business to see that there is fair play in the air."
He paused and looked away at the sea. When he resumed there was a suspicious huskiness in his voice. "Seems to me that as far as you are concerned, nature has punished you about enough. You ought to know by this time what interfering with the radio wave lengths belonging to sea traffic might mean to shipwrecked men; and—well—Oh, what's the use!" he broke off abruptly. "I'm a chicken-hearted fool. You're out on parole and must report to your sister every week. She's—she's what I'd call a brick!"
Turning hastily he walked away.
Almost before he knew it, he all but ran over Gladys Ardmore, coming to meet him.
"Oh, Mister—Mister—" she hesitated.
"Just plain Curlie," he smiled.
"You—you're coming to see me when you get home? Won't you?"
Curlie thought a moment, then of a sudden the spacious walls of the Ardmore mansion flashed into his mind. To go there as an officer of the law was one thing; to go as a guest was quite another.
"Why—why—" he drew back in confusion—"you'll have to excuse me but—but—"