“Does he owe you money?” He could see the underlying blood dye her dusky cheeks when she asked the question desperately, as it seemed to him with a kind of brazen shame to which custom had inured her. She had somehow the air of some gentle little creature of the forests defending her young. “Not a cent, ma’am. I don’t want to do him any harm.” “I didn’t hear your name.” “I haven’t mentioned it,” he admitted, with the sunny smile that was a letter of recommendation in itself. “Fact is I’d rather not tell it till he sees me.” From an adjoining room a querulous voice broke into their conversation. “Who is it, Norma?” “A gentleman to see you, Tom.” “Who is it?” more sharply. “It is I, Mr. Pelton. I came to have a talk with you.” Yesler pushed forward into the dingy sitting-room with the pertinacity of a bookagent. “I heard you were not well, and I came to find out if I can do anything for you.” The stout man lying on the lounge grew pale before the blood reacted in a purple flush. His very bulk emphasized the shabbiness of the stained and almost buttonless Prince Albert coat he wore, the dinginess of the little room he seemed to dwarf. “Leave my house, seh. You have ruined this family, and you come to gloat on your handiwork. Take a good look, and then go, Mr. Yesler. You see my wife in cotton rags doing her own work. Is it enough, seh?” The slim little woman stepped across the room and took her place beside her husband. Her eyes flashed fire at the man she held responsible for the fall of her husband. Yesler’s generous heart applauded the loyalty which was proof against both disgrace and poverty. For in the past month both of these had fallen heavily upon her. Tom Pelton had always lived well, and during the past few years he had speculated in ventures far beyond his means. Losses had pursued him, and he had looked to the senatorship to recoup himself and to stand off the creditors pressing hard for payment. Instead he had been exposed, disgraced, and finally disbarred for attempted bribery. Like a horde of hungry rats his creditors had pounced upon the discredited man and wrested from him the remnants of his mortgaged property. He had been forced to move into a mere cottage and was a man without a future. For the only profession at which he had skill enough to make a living was the one from which he had been cast as unfit to practise it. The ready sympathy of the cattleman had gone out to the politician who was down and out. He had heard the situation discussed enough to guess pretty close to the facts, and he could not let himself rest until he had made some effort to help the man whom his exposure had ruined, or, rather, had hastened to ruin, for that result had been for years approaching. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pelton. If I’ve injured you I want to make it right.”