"It was a stem-winder," says I. "Sir Peter was off side most of the time; but I don't carry no grouch for that."
Then I told 'em how I'd done it to keep him off the tracks, and how he got so warmed up he couldn't stop until he ran out of steam. They were polite enough after that. We shook hands all round, and I went in and resurrected Danvers, and they got Sir Peter fixed up so that he was fit to go in a cab, and the whole bunch clears out.
In about an hour Mr. Gordon comes back. He wears one of the won't-come-off kind, and steps like he was feelin' good all over. "Professor," says he, "you needn't be surprised at getting a medal of honor from the British Government. You seem to have cured Sir Peter of the bucket habit."
"We're quits, then," says I. "He's cured me of wanting to play shinny. Say, did you find out who the old snoozer was, anyway?"
"The old snoozer," says he, "is the crack financial expert of England, and a big gun generally. He'd been over here looking into our railroads, and when he gets back he's to make a report that will be accepted as law and gospel in every capital of Europe. It was while he was working on that job that his brain took a vacation; and it was your shinny game, the doctors say, that saved him from the insane asylum. You seem to have brought him back to his senses."
"He's welcome," says I; "but I wish the British Government would ante up a bottle of spavin-cure. Look at that shin."
"We'll make 'em pay for that shin," says he, with a kind of it's-coming-to-us grin. "And by the way, Shorty; those few after-dinner remarks that Sir Peter made about his report—you could forget about hearing 'em, couldn't you?"
"I can forget everything but the bucket," says I.
"Good," says Mr. Gordon. "It—it's a private matter for a while."
We took a hansom ride around town until the noon limited was ready to pull out. Never saw a car ride do a man so much good as that one back to New York seemed to do Mr. Gordon. He was as pleased with himself as if he was a red apple on the top branch.