"Of course that--that's what I meant," he laughed. I disliked his laugh because I knew it was forced, but I nodded gaily and
asked him where he was going. Louis looked after his brother officers who
had now almost reached Broadway. "We had intended to sample a Brunswick cocktail, but to tell you the
truth I was anxious for an excuse to go and see Hawberk instead. Come
along, I'll make you my excuse." We found old Hawberk, neatly attired in a fresh spring suit, standing at
the door of his shop and sniffing the air. "I had just decided to take Constance for a little stroll before dinner,"
he replied to the impetuous volley of questions from Louis. "We thought
of walking on the park terrace along the North River." At that moment Constance appeared and grew pale and rosy by turns as
Louis bent over her small gloved fingers. I tried to excuse myself,
alleging an engagement uptown, but Louis and Constance would not listen,
and I saw I was expected to remain and engage old Hawberk's attention. After all it would be just as well if I kept my eye on Louis, I thought,
and when they hailed a Spring Street horse-car, I got in after them and
took my seat beside the armourer. The beautiful line of parks and granite terraces overlooking the wharves
along the North River, which were built in 1910 and finished in the
autumn of 1917, had become one of the most popular promenades in the
metropolis. They extended from the battery to 190th Street, overlooking
the noble river and affording a fine view of the Jersey shore and the
Highlands opposite. Cafés and restaurants were scattered here and there
among the trees, and twice a week military bands from the garrison played
in the kiosques on the parapets. We sat down in the sunshine on the bench at the foot of the equestrian
statue of General Sheridan. Constance tipped her sunshade to shield her
eyes, and she and Louis began a murmuring conversation which was
impossible to catch. Old Hawberk, leaning on his ivory headed cane,
lighted an excellent cigar, the mate to which I politely refused, and
smiled at vacancy. The sun hung low above the Staten Island woods, and
the bay was dyed with golden hues reflected from the sun-warmed sails of
the shipping in the harbour. Brigs, schooners, yachts, clumsy ferry-boats, their decks swarming with
people, railroad transports carrying lines of brown, blue and white
freight cars, stately sound steamers, déclassé tramp steamers, coasters,
dredgers, scows, and everywhere pervading the entire bay impudent little
tugs puffing and whistling officiously;--these were the craft which
churned the sunlight waters as far as the eye could reach. In calm
contrast to the hurry of sailing vessel and steamer a silent fleet of
white warships lay motionless in midstream. Constance's merry laugh aroused me from my reverie. "What _are_ you staring at?" she inquired. "Nothing--the fleet," I smiled. Then Louis told us what the vessels were, pointing out each by its
relative position to the old Red Fort on Governor's Island. "That little cigar shaped thing is a torpedo boat," he explained; "there
are four more lying close together. They are the _Tarpon_, the _Falcon_,
the _Sea Fox_, and the _Octopus_. The gun-boats just above are the
_Princeton_, the _Champlain_, the _Still Water_ and the _Erie_. Next to
them lie the cruisers _Faragut_ and _Los Angeles_, and above them the
battle ships _California_, and _Dakota_, and the _Washington_ which is
the flag ship. Those two squatty looking chunks of metal which are
anchored there off Castle William are the double turreted monitors
_Terrible_ and _Magnificent_; behind them lies the ram, _Osceola_." Constance looked at him with deep approval in her beautiful eyes. "What
loads of things you know for a soldier," she said, and we all joined in
the laugh which followed. Presently Louis rose with a nod to us and offered his arm to Constance,
and they strolled away along the river wall. Hawberk watched them for a
moment and then turned to me. "Mr. Wilde was right," he said. "I have found the missing tassets and
left cuissard of the 'Prince's Emblazoned,' in a vile old junk garret in
Pell Street." "998?" I inquired, with a smile. "Yes." "Mr. Wilde is a very intelligent man," I observed. "I want to give him the credit of this most important discovery,"
continued Hawberk. "And I intend it shall be known that he is entitled
to the fame of it." "He won't thank you for that," I answered sharply; "please say nothing
about it." "Do you know what it is worth?" said Hawberk. "No, fifty dollars, perhaps." "It is valued at five hundred, but the owner of the 'Prince's Emblazoned'
will give two thousand dollars to the person who completes his suit; that
reward also belongs to Mr. Wilde." "He doesn't want it! He refuses it!" I answered angrily. "What do you
know about Mr. Wilde? He doesn't need the money. He is rich--or will
be--richer than any living man except myself. What will we care for money
then--what will we care, he and I, when--when--"

"When what?" demanded Hawberk, astonished. "You will see," I replied, on my guard again. He looked at me narrowly, much as Doctor Archer used to, and I knew he
thought I was mentally unsound. Perhaps it was fortunate for him that he
did not use the word lunatic just then. "No," I replied to his unspoken thought, "I am not mentally weak; my mind
is as healthy as Mr. Wilde's. I do not care to explain just yet what I
have on hand, but it is an investment which will pay more than mere gold,
silver and precious stones. It will secure the happiness and prosperity
of a continent--yes, a hemisphere!" "Oh," said Hawberk. "And eventually," I continued more quietly, "it will secure the happiness
of the whole world." "And incidentally your own happiness and prosperity as well as Mr. Wilde's?" "Exactly," I smiled. But I could have throttled him for taking that tone. He looked at me in silence for a while and then said very gently, "Why
don't you give up your books and studies, Mr. Castaigne, and take a tramp
among the mountains somewhere or other? You used to be fond of fishing. Take a cast or two at the trout in the Rangelys." "I don't care for fishing any more," I answered, without a shade of
annoyance in my voice. "You used to be fond of everything," he continued; "athletics, yachting,
shooting, riding--"

"I have never cared to ride since my fall," I said quietly. "Ah, yes, your fall," he repeated, looking away from me. I thought this nonsense had gone far enough, so I brought the
conversation back to Mr. Wilde; but he was scanning my face again in a
manner highly offensive to me. "Mr. Wilde," he repeated, "do you know what he did this afternoon? He
came downstairs and nailed a sign over the hall door next to mine; it
read:

"MR. WILDE,
REPAIRER OF REPUTATIONS. Third Bell. "Do you know what a Repairer of Reputations can be?" "I do," I replied, suppressing the rage within. "Oh," he said again. Louis and Constance came strolling by and stopped to ask if we would join
them.