CHAPTER XXIX 
FINIS 
Waite the burros were being unpacked and unsad- 
dled we went over to the office to report our return, 
in case Supervisor Johns had not heard the excite- 
ment caused by our entry. . 
As we entered the Supervisor’s sanctum we saw 
a huge man of about fifty years, dressed rather 
formally and imposing to a degree, seated comfort- 
ably in the largest chair in the room. 
He smiled cordially as we entered. 
“‘Gentlemen,’’ said Johns, impressively, ‘‘permit 
me to introduce Mr. Wetherby.’’ 
We gasped, as Horace, with an astonished cry of 
‘‘Father!’’ sprang forward and received the paren- 
tal embrace. 
The gentleman turned toward us. His mien was 
suave and dignified. He reminded us strongly of 
Horace at his best. But in his eyes there shone that 
which revealed the difference between them—a look 
of conscious power, of hard-won wisdom. Where 
the boy gazed out on life naively, and coloured it 
with his own imaginings and thoughts, the shrewd, 
objective glance of the older man penetrated to the 
essence. 
197 
