"But you surely don't expect you will ever see Bob, again!" said the
editor, impatiently. "You have trusted him with enough to start him for
the Sandwich Islands, to say nothing of the ruinous precedent you have
established in his mind of the value of poetry. I am surprised that
a man of your knowledge of the world would have faith in that imp the
second time."

"My knowledge of the world," returned Mr. Hamlin, sententiously, "tells
me that's the only way you can trust anybody. ONCE doesn't make a habit,
nor show a character. I could see by his bungling that he had never
tried this on before. Just now the temptation to wipe out his punishment
by doing the square thing, and coming back a sort of hero, is stronger
than any other. 'Tisn't everybody that gets that chance," he added, with
an odd laugh.

Nevertheless, three hours passed without bringing Bob. The two men had
gone to the billiard-room, when a waiter brought a note, which he
handed to Mr. Hamlin with some apologetic hesitation. It bore no
superscription, but had been brought by a boy who described Mr. Hamlin
perfectly, and requested that the note should be handed to him with the
remark that "Bob had come back."

"And is he there now?" asked Mr. Hamlin, holding the letter unopened in
his hand.

"No, sir; he run right off."

The editor laughed, but Mr. Hamlin, having perused the note, put away
his cue. "Come into my room," he said.