He was down on the ground again, groveling. His efforts had failed. Tembarom, overwrought himself, caught at him and dragged him up. “Make a fight,” he said. “You can't lie down like that. You've got to put up a fight. It'll come back. I tell you it will. You've had a clip on the head or something. Let me call an ambulance and take you to the hospital.” The next moment he was sorry he had said the words, the man's terror was so ill to behold. He grew livid with it, and uttered a low animal cry. “Don't drop dead over it,” said Tembarom, rather losing his head. “I won't do it, though what in thunder I'm going to do with you I don't know. You can't stay here.” “For God's sake!” said the man. “For God's sake!” He put his shaking hand on Tembarom again, and looked at him with a bewildered scrutiny. “I'm not afraid of you,” he said; “I don't know why. There's something all right about you. If you'll stand by me--you'd stand by a man, I'd swear. Take me somewhere quiet. Let me get warm and think.” “The less you think now the better,” answered Tembarom. “You want a bed and a bath and a night's rest. I guess I've let myself in for it. You brush off and brace yourself and come with me.” There was the hall bedroom and the red-cotton comfort for one night at least, and Mrs. Bowse was a soft-hearted woman. If she'd heard the fellow sobbing behind the fence, she'd have been in a worse fix than he was. Women were kinder-hearted than men, anyhow. The way the fellow's voice sounded when he said, “Help me, help me, help me!” sounded as though he was in hell. “Made me feel as if I was bracing up a chap that was going to be electrocuted,” he thought, feeling sickish again. “I've not got backbone enough to face that sort of thing. Got to take him somewhere.” They were walking toward the “L” together, and he was wondering what he should say to Mrs. Bowse when he saw his companion fumbling under his coat at the back as though he was in search of something. His hands being unsteady, it took him some moments to get at what he wanted. He evidently had a belt or a hidden pocket. He got something out and stopped under a street light to show it to Tembarom. His hands still shook when he held them out, and his look was a curious, puzzled, questioning one. What he passed over to Tembarom was a roll of money. Tembarom rather lost his breath as he saw the number on two five-hundred-dollar bills, and of several hundreds, besides twenties, tens, and fives. “Take it--keep it,” he said. “It will pay.” “Hully gee!” cried Tembarom, aghast. “Don't go giving away your whole pile to the first fellow you meet. I don't want it.” “Take it.” The stranger put his hand on his shoulder, the abject look in his eyes harrowingly like the starved dog's again. “There's something all right about you. You'll help me.”