“Oh! I’ll accompany you to the Sherman. Perhaps Jack will break down and confess the truth when he sees me. We can get out without attracting attention, I reckon.”
“Oh! brother John!”
A rap comes on the door, which Aleck opens.
“Beg pardon—is Colonel Bob Rocket in here?” asks the colored door-keeper.
“On deck, parson. Has it come?” demands that worthy.
“De messenger boy, sah.”
Rocket snatches the envelope and tears it open. Then he says something under his breath.
“Mr. Cereal, this explains it—John Atherton, pardon my bothering you, and kick this ass who signs himself 'Jim,’ when you see him again, for sending me the wrong picture. Gentlemen—ladies—adieu. Duty calls me from this realm of bliss—believe me, only that could tear Bob Rocket away so near supper time. To the Sherman, then, and Happy Jack! Again I say, au revoir!”
CHAPTER XXII.
HAPPY JACK!