would be difficult to conjecture.

Sauntering slowly along, Hogan had reached the corner of Pacific
Street, then a dark and suspicious locality in the immediate
neighborhood of a number of low public houses of bad reputation. The
night was dark, for there was no moon.

Suddenly he felt himself seized in a tight grip, while a low, stern
voice in his ear demanded:

"Your money, and be quick about it!"

Hogan was not a brave man, but this demand, in his impecunious
condition, instead of terrifying him, struck his sense of humor as an
exceedingly good joke.

"You've got the wrong man!" he chuckled.

"Stop your fooling, and hand over your money, quickly!" was the stern
rejoinder.

"My dear friend," said Hogan, "if you can find any money about me,
it's more than I can do myself."

"Are you on the square?" demanded the other suspiciously.

"Look at me, and see."

The highwayman took him at his word. Lighting a match, he surveyed
his captive.