Part 34 (2/2)

The contractor's eyes snapped, and Tom expected hot words. But none came. ”Don't get hot under the collar,” Mr. Driscoll advised, running his comforting finger under his own. ”Come, what's your side of the story?”

Tom was of half a mind to give a curt refusal. But his wrong was too great, too burning, for him to keep silent upon it. He would have talked of it to any one--to his very walls. He took a turn in the cell, then paused before his old employer and hotly explained his innocence and Foley's guilt.

While Tom spoke Mr. Driscoll's head nodded excitedly.

”Just what I said!” he cried when Tom ended, and brought his fist down on his knee. ”Well, we'll show him!”

”Show him what?” Tom asked.

Mr. Driscoll stopped his fist midway in another excited descent. He stood up, for he saw the officer's scowling face at the grated front of the cell. ”Oh, a lot of things before he dies. As for you, keep your courage up. What else's it for?”

He held out his hand. Tom took it with bewildered perfunctoriness.

Mr. Driscoll pa.s.sed through the door, held open by the officer. Outside he turned about and growled through the bars: ”Now don't be blowing up any more buildings!”

Tom, stung anew, would have retorted in kind, but Mr. Driscoll's footsteps had died away down the corridor before adequate words came to him.

It was about an hour later that the officer appeared before his cell again and unlocked his door. ”Come on,” he said shortly.

Tom, supposing he was at length to be removed to the county jail, put on his hat and stepped outside the cell. He had expected to find policemen in the corridor, and to be handcuffed. But the officer was alone.

Two cells away he saw Jake's malignant face peering at him through the bars. ”I guess this puts us about even!” Jake called out.

Tom shook his fist. ”Wait till the trial! We'll see!” he cried vengefully.

”Shut up, youse!” shouted the surly watchman. He pushed Tom through the corridor and up a stairway. At its head Tom was guided through a door, and found himself in the general hall of the police station.

”Here youse are,” said the officer, starting for the sergeant's desk.

”Come on and sign the bail bond.”

Tom caught his arm. ”What's this mean?” he cried.

”Don't youse know? Youse're bailed out.”

”Bailed out! Who by?”

”Didn't he tell youse?” Surprise showed in the crabbed face of the officer. ”Why, before he done anything he went down to talk it over with youse.”

”Not Mr. Driscoll?”

”I don't know his name. That red-faced old geezer in the gla.s.ses.

Huh!--his coin comes easier'n mine.”

Tom put his name to the bond, already signed by Mr. Driscoll, and stumbled out into the street, half blinded by the rush of sunlight into his cell-darkened eyes, and struck through with bewilderment at his unexpected liberation. He threw off a number of quizzing reporters, who had got quick news of his release, and walked several aimless blocks before he came back to his senses. Then he set out for Mr. Driscoll's office, almost choking with emotion at the prospect of meeting Ruth again. But he reached it too late to spend his thanks or to test his self-control. It was past six and the office was locked.

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