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Updated: May 6, 2025
Loristan's recognition of his gesture and his expression as he moved forward lifted from The Rat's shoulders a load which he himself had not known lay there. Somehow he felt as if something new had happened to him, as if he were not mere "vermin," after all, as if he need not be on the defensive even as if he need not feel so much in the dark, and like a thing there was no place in the world for.
So when he spoke of Loristan's knowing him to be only a rat of the gutter, Marco felt he himself was fortunate in remembering something he could say. "My father said yesterday that you had a big brain and a strong will," he answered from his bed. "He said that you had a wonderful memory which only needed exercising.
He did not look like Marco, but in some extraordinary way he seemed more akin to him. They only knew that some necessity in Loristan's affairs had taken the two away from London and the Game. Now they had come back, and they seemed older. At first, The Squad felt awkward and shuffled its feet uncomfortably. After the first greetings it did not know exactly what to say.
"The time has come," and Loristan's voice was almost as low as his own, though strong and deep feeling underlay its quiet "the time has come when I can trust you with Marco to be his companion to care for him, to stand by his side at any moment. And Marco is Marco is my son." That was enough to uplift The Rat to the skies. But there was more to follow.
He seized Loristan's hand, and knelt on one knee and kissed it. An English or American boy could not have done such a thing from unaffected natural impulse. But he was of warm Southern blood. "I took my oath of allegiance to you, Father, when I took it to Samavia. It seems as if you were Samavia, too," he said, and kissed his hand again.
The Squad stopped at this particular corner because it led to such homes as they possessed. They stopped in a body and looked at The Rat, and The Rat stopped also. He swung himself to Loristan's side, touching his hand to his forehead. "Thank you, sir," he said. "Line and salute, you chaps!" And the Squad stood in line and raised their hands also. "Thank you, sir. Thank you, Marco. Good-by."
It was the way she looked at at His Highness." "Say 'Marco," threw in Prince Ivor. "It's easier. He was my army, Father." Stefan Loristan's grave eyes melted. "Say 'Marco," he said. "You were his army and more when we both needed one. It was you who invented the Game!" "Thanks, Your Majesty," said The Rat, reddening scarlet. "You do me great honor!
"When you are near me," Marco said, in Loristan's own voice, "when you are near me, I feel I feel as if I were a royal prince attended by an army. You are my army." And he pulled off his cap with quick boyishness and added, "God be thanked!" The sun was warm in the attic window when they reached their lodging, and the two leaned on the rough sill as Marco told his story.
When the evening meal was served, Lazarus drew out Loristan's chair at the head of the table and stood behind it with a majestic air. "Sir," he said to Marco, "the Master requested that you take his seat at the table until while he is not with you." Marco took the seat in silence.
Don't you think so?" Before he had gone far with his story, the faraway look had fallen upon Loristan's face the look Marco had known so well all his life. He sat turned a little sidewise from the boy, his elbow resting on the table and his forehead on his hand. He looked down at the worn carpet at his feet, and so he looked as he listened to the end.
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