Out came a well-worn case, and Dick proudly displayed the likeness of a stout, much bejewelled young woman, with two staring infants on her knee.  In his sight, the poor picture was a more perfect work of art than any of Sir Joshua’s baby-beauties, or Raphael’s Madonnas, and the little story needed no better sequel than the young father’s praises of his twins, the covert kiss he gave their mother when he turned as if to get a clearer light upon the face.  Ashamed to show the tenderness that filled his honest heart, he hummed “Kingdom Coming,” while relighting his cigar, and presently began to talk again.

“Now, then, Flint, it’s your turn to keep guard, and Thorn’s to tell his romance.  Come, don’t try to shirk; it does a man good to talk of such things, and we’re all mates here.”

“In some cases it don’t do any good to talk of such things; better let ’em alone,” muttered Thorn, as he reluctantly sat down, while Flint as reluctantly departed.

With a glance and gesture of real affection, Phil laid his hand upon his comrade’s knee, saying, in his persuasive voice, “Old fellow, it will do you good, because I know you often long to speak of something that weighs upon you.  You’ve kept us steady many a time, and done us no end of kindnesses; why be too proud to let us give our sympathy in return, if nothing more?”

Thorn’s big hand closed over the slender one upon his knee, and the mild expression, so rarely seen upon his face, passed over it as he replied,—­

“I think I could tell you almost anything if you asked me that way, my boy.  It isn’t that I’m too proud,—­and you’re right about my sometimes wanting to free my mind,—­but it’s because a man of forty don’t just like to open out to young fellows, if there is any danger of their laughing at him, though he may deserve it.  I guess there isn’t now, and I’ll tell you how I found my wife.”

Dick sat up, and Phil drew nearer, for the earnestness that was in the man dignified his plain speech, and inspired an interest in his history, even before it was begun.  Looking gravely at the river and never at his hearers, as if still a little shy of confidants, yet grateful for the relief of words, Thorn began abruptly,—­

“I never hear the number eighty-four without clapping my hand to my left breast and missing my badge.  You know I was on the police in New York, before the war, and that’s about all you do know yet.  One bitter cold night, I was going my rounds for the last time, when, as I turned a corner, I saw there was a trifle of work to be done.  It was a bad part of the city, full of dirt and deviltry; one of the streets led to a ferry, and at the corner an old woman had an apple-stall.  The poor soul had dropped asleep, worn out with the cold, and there were her goods left, with no one to watch ’em.  Somebody was watching ’em, however; a girl, with a ragged shawl over her head, stood at the mouth of an alley close by, waiting for a chance to grab something.  I’d seen her there when I went by before, and mistrusted she was up to some mischief; as I turned the corner, she put out her hand and cribbed an apple.  She saw me the minute she did it, but neither dropped it nor ran, only stood stocks still with the apple in her hand till came up.