Chapter III.
An Unholy Compact.


"Who is that man, Curtis?" asked John Linden, pointing his thin finger
at Tim Bolton, who looked strangely out of place, as, with clay pipe,
he sat in the luxurious library on a sumptuous chair.

"That man?" stammered Curtis, quite at a loss what to say.

"Yes."

"He is a poor man out of luck, who has applied to me for assistance,"
answered Curtis, recovering his wits.

"That's it, governor," said Bolton, thinking it necessary to confirm
the statement. "I've got five small children at home almost starvin',
your honor."

"That is sad. What is your business, my man?"

It was Bolton's turn to be embarrassed.

"My business?" he repeated.

"That is what I said."

"I'm a blacksmith, but I'm willing to do any honest work."

"That is commendable; but don't you know that it is very ill-bred to