"That's enough. It's all I know myself. But it won't do any harm to pick up something else; the police won't never think of you as a sailor." "I don't know but you're right, Jacob, shiver my timbers if I don't!" and he laughed as he used the expression. "Try it on. I guess it'll be about right," said the old man. Marlowe quickly stripped off the suit he wore, and arrayed himself in the strange and unfamiliar garb presented. By good luck it had originally been made for a man of about his size, and there was no discrepancy likely to excite suspicion. "Let me look at myself," said he. Jacob produced a small cracked glass, and the ex-burglar surveyed his transformed figure. "What do you think of it?" asked the dealer. "The dress is well enough, but they'll know my face." "Sit down." "What for?" "I must cut your hair." "What then?" "I'll give you a red wig. There's nothing will disguise you so quick as different colored hair." "Have you got a wig?" "Yes, here it is." "It's ugly enough." "Better wear it than your own hair at Sing Sing." "That's where you're right, old man! Go ahead. You understand your business. I'll put myself in your hands." Marlowe sat down in a wooden chair with a broken back, and the old man proceeded, with trembling hands, to cut his black locks with a pair of large shears, which he kept for this and other purposes. "You're cutting it pretty close, Jacob. I shall look like a scarecrow." "All the better," said the old man, laconically. When the operation was over, Marlowe surveyed his closely-cropped head in the cracked mirror with some disgust. "You've made a beauty of me," he said. "However, it had to be done. Now where's that wig?" He was adjusting it awkwardly, when Jacob took it from his hands and put it on properly. "Now look at yourself," he said. Marlowe did look, and, as the old man had predicted, found his looks so transformed that he hardly knew himself. "That's good," he said, in a tone of satisfaction. "It don't improve my beauty, but then I ain't vain. I care more for my liberty. If it hadn't been for that cussed boy there wouldn't have been any need of this." "What boy?" "Jack Morgan's boy--Julius." "What did he do?" "He split on us--gave warning of our attempt. That's how we came to be taken. I'd give something to get at him." "Maybe you will." "I'll try, at any rate. If not now, my revenge will keep. Is that all?" "Not quite. Sit down again." The old man stained the face of his visitor so adroitly that he appeared to be deeply pitted with smallpox. "Your own mother wouldn't know you now," he said with pride. "That's so, Jacob! you're a regular genius," replied Marlowe. "I ain't sure about it's being me. You're sure about it?" "Shiver your timbers!" said the old man. "Shiver my timbers, but I forgot about it! Do you think I'll do?" "Yes; but you mustn't wash your face till it is dry."