Billy Wantage cowered. This was not the Charley Steele he had known,
not like the man he had seen since a child. There was something almost
uncouth in this harsh high voice, these gauche words, this raw accent;
but it was powerful and vengeful, and it was full of purpose. Billy
quivered, yet his adroit senses caught at a straw in the words, "as rob
me!" Charley was counting it a robbery of himself, not of the widows and
orphans! That gave him a ray of hope. In a paroxysm of fear, joined to
emotional excitement, he fell upon his knees, and pleaded for mercy--for
the sake of one chance in life, for the family name, for Kathleen's sake,
for the sake of everything he had ruthlessly dishonoured. Tears came
readily to his eyes, real tears--of excitement; but he could measure,
too, the strength of his appeal.

"If you'll stand by me in this, I'll pay you back every cent, Charley,"
he cried. "I will, upon my soul and honour! You shan't lose a penny,
if you'll only see me through. I'll work my fingers off to pay it back
till the last hour of my life. I'll be straight till the day I die--so
help me God!"

Charley's eyes wandered to the cupboard where the liqueurs were. If he
could only decently take a drink! But how could he with this boy
kneeling before him? His breath scorched his throat.

"Get up!" he said shortly. "I'll see what I can do--to-morrow. Go away
home. Don't go out again to-night. And come here at ten o'clock in the
morning."

Billy took up his hat, straightened his tie, carefully brushed the dust
from his knees, and, seizing Charley's hand, said: "You're the best
fellow in the world, Charley." He went towards the door, dusting his