WITH THE DYNAMITE GANG
thought it hardly worth while explaining, and concluded, "I guess I can find a bed somewhere."
Mr. Naughton whistled, cocked a scrutinizing eye, and observed:
"So you got into trouble with the Spiggoty police? Anything serious? I won't give you away."
"Nothing against my morals," smiled Walter. "My manners were disliked."
"I'll take your word for it. One of my minor ambitions has been to punch the head of a Panamanian policeman. The chesty little beggars!" drawled Mr. Naughton. "You don't belong with the laborers, Goodwin, and you wouldn't like their quarters. I can find you a place to sleep at our bachelor hotel, and you can get commissary meals at thirty cents each. Uncle Sam is a pretty good landlord."
Cordially thanking him, Walter exclaimed as he straightened his aching back:
"I haven't been as lame and tired since I pitched a twelve-inning game for the high-school championship of the State. Phew! I must have moved enough dynamite already to
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