“No, my dear boy,” he continued,—­

  “You can’t catch it,
  And I can’t fetch it,

“so you may as well take it easy and wait for the next one.”

“When does the next one go?” inquired Ralph, looking up at the strange young man, but with his eyes still unaccustomed to the darkness of the room.

“Four o’clock, my cherub; not till four o’clock.  Going up on that train myself, and I’ll see you right through:—­

  “Oh, sonny! if you’ll wait and go with me,
  How happy and delighted I should be.”

Then the young man did a strange thing; he took hold of Ralph’s arm, led him to the window, turned his face to the light and scrutinized it closely.

“Well, I’ll be kicked to death by grasshoppers!” he exclaimed, at last, “have I found—­do I behold—­is this indeed the long lost Ralph?”

The boy had broken away from him, and stood with frightened, wondering face, gazing steadily on the young man, as if trying to call something to memory.  Then a light of recognition came into his eyes, and a smile to his lips.

“Why!” he exclaimed, “it’s Joe; it’s Rhymin’ Joe!”

“A happy meeting,” said the young man, “and a mutual remembrance.  Heart speaks to heart.

  “The hand of friendship, ever true,
  Brings you to me and me to you.

“Mr. Bummerton,” turning to the bar-tender, “allow me to introduce my esteemed young friend, Mr. Ralph Craft, the worthy grandson of an old acquaintance.”

Mr. Bummerton reached a burly hand over the bar and shook hands cordially with Ralph.  “Glad to meet your young friend,” he said.

“Well,” continued Rhyming Joe, “isn’t it strange how and under what circumstances old cronies sometimes meet?  I cast my eyes on you and I said to myself, ‘that young man has a familiar look to me.’  I listened to your voice and I remarked to my inner consciousness, ’that voice lingers somewhere in the depths of of memory.’  I turn your face to the light, and lo and behold!  I reveal to my astonished gaze the features of my old friend, Ralph.

  “No tongue can tell my great delight,
  At seeing you again to-night.

“Of course it isn’t night yet, you know, but the pressing exigencies of rhyme often demand the elimination, as it were, of a small portion of time.”

Ralph was glancing uneasily about the room.  “Gran’pa Simon ain’t anywheres around is he?” he asked, letting his eyes rest, with careful scrutiny, on a drunken man asleep in a chair in a dark corner.

“No, my boy,” answered Joe, “he isn’t.  I haven’t seen the dear old saint, for, lo, these many moons.  Ah!—­let me see! did you not leave the patriarch’s sweet home circle, somewhat prematurely, eh?

  “Gave the good old man the slip
  Ere the cup could touch the lip?”

“Yes,” said Ralph, “I did.  I run away.  He didn’t use me right.”

“No, he didn’t, that’s so.  Come, be seated—­tell me about it.  Oh! you needn’t fear.  I’ll not give it away.  Your affectionate grandpa and I are not on speaking terms.  The unpleasant bitterness of our estrangement is sapping the juices of my young life and dragging the roses from my cheeks.