“Never heard the name before.” “What’s your name, sir?” “What you want to know for?” asked the other, cunningly. “The landlord will want to put it on his book.” “My name? Phil Stark.” “Philip Stark?” “Yes; who told you?” It will be seen that Mr. Stark was not yet quite himself. “You told me yourself.” “So I did--‘scuse me.” “Certainly, sir. By the way, you told me you would pay me a dollar for bringing you to the hotel.” “So I did. Take it,” and Philip Stark passed the wallet to Leonard. Leonard felt tempted to take a two-dollar bill instead of a one, as Mr. Stark would hardly notice the mistake. Still, he might ask to look at the bill, and that would be awkward. So the boy contented himself with the sum promised. “Thank you, sir,” he said, as he slipped the bill into his vest pocket. “Do you want some supper?” “No, I want to sleep.” “Then you had better lie down on the bed. Will you undress?” “No; too much trouble.” Mr. Stark rose from the armchair, and, lurching round to the bed, flung himself on it. “I suppose you don’t want me any longer,” said Leonard. “No. Come round to-morrer.” “Yes, sir.” Leonard opened the door and left the room. He resolved to keep the appointment, and come round the next day. Who knew but some more of Mr. Stark’s money might come into his hands? Grown man as he was, he seemed to need a guardian, and Leonard was willing to act as such--for a consideration. “It’s been a queer adventure!” thought Leonard, as he slowly bent his steps towards his uncle’s house. “I’ve made a dollar out of it, anyway, and if he hadn’t happened to wake up just as he did I might have done better. However, it may turn out as well in the end.” “You are rather late, Leonard,” said his uncle, in a tone that betrayed some irritation. “I wanted to send you on an errand, and you are always out of the way at such a time.” “I’ll go now,” said Leonard, with unusual amiability. “I’ve had a little adventure.” “An adventure! What is it?” Mr. Gibbon asked, with curiosity. Leonard proceeded to give an account of his finding the inebriate in the meadow, and his guiding him to the hotel. It may readily be supposed that he said nothing of his attempt to appropriate a part of the contents of the wallet. “What was his name?” asked Gibbon, with languid curiosity. “Phil Stark, he calls himself.” A strange change came over the face of the bookkeeper. There was a frightened look in his eyes, and his color faded. “Phil Stark!” he repeated, in a startled tone. “Yes, sir.” “What brings him here?” Gibbon asked himself nervously, but no words passed his lips. “Do you know the name?” asked Leonard, wonderingly. “I--have heard it before, but--no, I don’t think it is the same man.” CHAPTER XIX. AN ARTFUL SCHEME. “Does this Mr. Stark intend to remain long in the village!” inquired the bookkeeper, in a tone of assumed indifference. “He didn’t say anything on that point,” answered Leonard.