From such terrible thoughts as these the lad was aroused by the sound of cheery voices: and glancing listlessly in their direction, he saw a well-dressed young fellow, apparently not much older than himself, a little boy in his first suit of tiny knickerbockers, and a big dog. They had just come from the hotel and were playing with a ball. It was Phil Ryder with little Nel-te, an orphan whom he had rescued from the Yukon wilderness, and big Amook, one of his Eskimo sledge dogs that he was carrying back to New London as a curiosity.
While Alaric watched them, wondering how it must seem to be as free from both hunger and anxiety as that happy-looking chap evidently was, the ball tossed to Nel-te escaped him and rolled under the iron bench. As the child came running up, the lad recovered it and handed it to him.
"Fank you, man," said the little chap, and then ran away.
After a while the ball again came in the same direction, and, as the child did not follow it, Alaric picked it up and tossed it to Phil.
"Hello!" cried the latter. "It seems mighty good to be catching a baseball again. Give us another, will you?" With this he threw the ball to Alaric, who caught it deftly and flung it back.
The ball was one that had been found in a certain canvas dunnage-bag the evening before, and begged by Phil Ryder as a souvenir of his experience as a smuggler. After a few passes back and forth Alaric became so dizzy from weakness that, with a very pale face, he was again forced to sit down.
"WHAT'S THE MATTER?" ASKED PHIL, ANXIOUSLY.
"What's the matter?" asked Phil, anxiously, coming up to the trembling lad. "Not ill, I hope?"
"No; I'm not ill. It's only a little faintness."