roadside nor anything that suggested romance. There were happy hearts
and smiling lips--and all for him, it would appear--but he passed
them by, for his eyes were _sharp_ and his wits awake. And so,
at last, he came to Gotham, his heart as free as the air he breathed,
confessing that his quest had been in vain. History failed to repeat
itself. His mother's romance would stand alone and shine without a
flicker to the end of time. There could be no counterpart.

"Well, I had the fun of looking," he philosophised (to himself, for
no man knew of his secret project) and grinned with a sort of amused
tolerance for the sentimental side of his nature. "I'm a silly ass to
have even dreamed of finding her as I passed along, and if I had
found her what the deuce could I have done about it anyway? This
isn't the day for mediaeval lady-snatching. I dare say I'm just as
well off for not having found her. I still have the zest for hunting
farther, and there's a lot in that." Then aloud: "Hobbs, are we on
time?"

"We are, sir," said Hobbs, without even glancing at his watch. The
train was passing 125th Street. "To the minute, sir. We will be in in
ten minutes, if nothing happens. Mr. King will be at the station to
meet you, sir. Any orders, sir?"

"Yes, pinch me, Hobbs."

"Pinch your Highness?" in amazement. "My word, sir, wot--"

"I just want to be sure that the dream is over, Hobbs. Never mind.
You needn't pinch me. I'm awake," and to prove it he stretched his
fine young body in the ecstasy of realisation.