standing close behind him and holding him by the wrist. Mr. Dwyer had
forgotten the boy's existence, and would have spoken sharply if
something in Gallegher's innocent eyes had not stopped him.

Gallegher's hand was still in that pocket, in which Mr. Dwyer had
shoved his note-book filled with what he had written of Gallegher's
work and Hade's final capture, and with a running descriptive account
of the fight. With his eyes fixed on Mr. Dwyer, Gallegher drew it out,
and with a quick movement shoved it inside his waistcoat. Mr. Dwyer
gave a nod of comprehension. Then glancing at his two guardsmen, and
finding that they were still interested in the wordy battle of the
correspondents with their chief, and had seen nothing, he stooped and
whispered to Gallegher: "The forms are locked at twenty minutes to
three. If you don't get there by that time it will be of no use, but
if you're on time you'll beat the town--and the country too."

Gallegher's eyes flashed significantly, and nodding his head to show
he understood, started boldly on a run toward the door. But the
officers who guarded it brought him to an abrupt halt, and, much to
Mr. Dwyer's astonishment, drew from him what was apparently a torrent
of tears.

"Let me go to me father. I want me father," the boy shrieked,
hysterically. "They've 'rested father. Oh, daddy, daddy. They're a-
goin' to take you to prison."

"Who is your father, sonny?" asked one of the guardians of the gate.

"Keppler's me father," sobbed Gallegher. "They're a-goin' to lock him
up, and I'll never see him no more."