impossibly shrewd detective successfully put out of existence, or safely
incarcerated each one of the numerous scoundrels who had hitherto
triumphed over the law, and Constance closed the book.

"Hully gee!" sighed Swot, contentedly. "Say, dat Old Sleut, he's up to de
limit, oin't he? It don't matter wot dey does, he works it so's de hull
push comes his way, don't he?"

"He certainly was very far-seeing," Constance conceded; "but what a pity
it is that he--that he wasn't in some finer calling."

"Finer wot?"

"How much nobler it would have been if, instead of taking life, he had
been saving it--like Dr. Armstrong, for instance," she added, to bring her
idea within the comprehension of the boy.

"Ah, dat's de talk for religious mugs an' goils," contemptuously exclaimed
the waif, "but it guv's me de sore ear. It don't go wid me, not one little
bit."

"Aren't you grateful to Dr. Armstrong for all he's done for you?"

"Bet youse life," assented Swot; "but Ise oin't goin' to be no doctor,
nah! Ise goin' to git on de force, dat's de racket Ise outer. Say, will
youse read me anudder of dem stories?'

"Gladly, if I can find the right kind this time."

The boy raised his head to look about the ward. "Hey, doc," called his