“Where’d you get that ring, sport?” Soapy repeated.

“From Maggie Finlay’s father!”

Soapy turned away to stare at the tomato cans again.

“Meanin’?” he enquired at last, hoarser than before.

“That once upon a time it belonged to—­her.”

“Sport,” said Soapy after an interval, still staring at the pyramid of cans, “I useter know her once, an’ I’ve jest nacherally took a fancy t’ that ring; if fifty dollars’ll buy it, they’re yours—­right now.”

“It isn’t mine,” answered Ravenslee, still scowling at the ring which he had drawn from his finger.  “I’m on my way to take it to—­its owner.  But if that person doesn’t want it, and I’m pretty sure—­that person—­won’t, you shall have it, I promise you.  And now,” said he, pocketing the ring and turning, still scowling, on Soapy, “you are one of M’Ginnis’s gang, I fancy; anyway, if you see him you can tell him from me that if he gives me another chance I’ll surely kill him for the foul beast he is.”

“Sport,” said Soapy, “I guess the Spider’s right about you—­anyway, you ain’t my meat.  An’ as fer killin’ Bud—­you sure ain’t goin’ t’ get th’ chance—­not while I have the say-so.  S’ long, sport!” and turning upon his heel, Soapy lounged away.

At Times Square Ravenslee entered the subway and, buying his ticket, was jostled by a boy, a freckled boy, round-headed and round of nose, who stared at him with a pair of round, impertinent eyes.

Lost in happy speculation he was duly borne to One Hundred and Thirtieth Street, where he boarded the ferry.  Upon the boat he was again conscious of a round head that bobbed here and there amid the throng of passengers, but paid small heed as he leaned to watch the broad and noble river and the green New Jersey shore.  At Fort Lee, exchanging boat for trolley car, he was once more vaguely conscious of two round eyes that watched him from a rear seat; but as the powerful car whirled them up-hill, plunged them down steep inclines, swung them around sharp curves, through shady woods, past far-flung boughs whose leaves stirred and whispered as the great car fleeted by, he fell again to dreaming of Hermione and the future; and so reached Englewood, a small township dreaming in the fierce midday sunshine.  Here he enquired of a perspiring butcher in shirtsleeves the whereabouts of the house he wanted and, being fully directed and carefully admonished how to get there, set off along the road.  And remembering that her feet must often have traversed this very path, he straightway fell to his dreaming again.  Thus how should he know anything of the round head that bobbed out from behind bush or tree ere it followed whither he went?  So Ravenslee came where the road led between tall trees—­to smooth green lawns beyond which was the gleam of water and so at last to the house he sought.