"What's dat?"
"Nothing but paste. They weren't worth thirty dollars."
A light of understanding came into Spike's eyes. His face beamed with the smile of one to whom dark matters are made clear.
"So dat's why you wouldn't stand for gettin' away wit' dem!" he exclaimed.
The last voyager had embarked. The deck was full to congestion.
"They'll be sending us ashore in a minute," said Jimmy. "I'd better be moving. Let me know how you're making out, Spike, from time to time. You know the address. And, I say. It's just possible you may find you want a dollar or two, every now and then. When you're going to buy another automobile, for instance. Well, you know where to write for it, don't you?"
"T'anks, Mr. Chames. But dat'll be all right. I'm going to sit in at another game dis time. Politics, Mr. Chames. A fr'en' of a mug what I knows has got a pull. Me brother Dan is an alderman wit' a grip on de 'Levent' Ward," he went on softly. "He'll find me a job!"
"You'll be a boss before you know where you are."
"Sure!" said Spike, grinning modestly.
"You ought to be a thundering success in American politics," said Jimmy. "You've got all the necessary qualities."
A steward passed.
"Any more for the shore?"
"Which shore?" asked Jimmy. "Well, Spike——"
"Good-by, Mr. Chames."
"Good-by," said Jimmy. "And good luck!"
Two tugs attached themselves excitedly to the liner's side. The great ship began to move slowly from the shore. Jimmy stood at the water side, and watched her. The rails were lined with gesticulating figures. In the front row, Spike waved his hat with silent vigor.
The sun had gone behind the clouds. As the ship slid out on its way, a stray beam pierced the grayness.
It shone on a red head.