A few days after the docking of the North Star, a happy group sat about a table in a small dining room of the most sumptuous of New York hotels. They had met there, Johnny, Pant, Kennedy and Madge, for a farewell feast. Business had been disposed of, and the Kennedys were going home.
“Johnny,” said Kennedy as he rose to stand before a pretty open fireplace, “it would be nice if we might have a bit of a wood fire. Makes a fellow feel sort of cheerful.”
“Not there. You couldn’t,” said Johnny. “That’s not a real fireplace. It has no flue.”
“Then what is it for?”
“To add a suggestion of comfort.”
Only half satisfied, the old jungle man sat down.
“Seems a bit stuffy,” he said a moment later. “Let’s open a window.”
“Those are not windows,” said Johnny. “They are looking-glasses that seem windows. We are probably a half block from any outer wall. This hotel covers an entire block.”
“A sham!” said Kennedy, rising. “This whole thing’s sham. This is my party. I’m paying the bill. There’s a real ship with a real cabin down in the harbor. There are real windows in her that look out on a real harbor. I propose that we eat there.”
So aboard the ship they dined and talked. The food was good. The talk was better. Old days and new were discussed. Pant was to sail with the Kennedys. He was going back to Central America to make his grandfather and the old Don comfortable for life. The Kennedys were going home. That was quite enough for them.