"I keep a saloon on the Bowery. There's my card. Call around when
convenient."

Curtis was about to throw the card into the grate, but on second
thought dropped it into his pocket.

"And the boy?" he asked, slowly.

"Is alive and well. He hasn't been starved. Though I dare say you
wouldn't have grieved if he had."

"And he is actually in this city?"

"Just so."

"Does he know anything of--you know what I mean."

"He doesn't know that he is the son of a rich man, and heir to the
property which you look upon as yours. That's what you mean, isn't
it?"

"Yes. What is he doing? Is he at work?"

"He helps me some in the saloon, sells papers in the evenings, and
makes himself generally useful."

"Has he any education?"

"Well, I haven't sent him to boarding school or college," answered