“Bring me my pocket book. Quick! Quick!” With trembling fingers he turned out its contents, bills, soiled papers, newspaper cuttings. “How much money do you make?” “Six hundred and fifty dollars,” said Paul after he had counted. “Six hundred and fifty? Oh, curse them! They rolled me for five hundred. Got to find that someway. Who will lend it to me? Forbes might do it, but I don’t know. Must find some way.” “Here is another pocket book,” said Paul, “which I pulled from the man’s pocket.” “Let me see!” shouted Tussock. “Jumpin’ Jeroosha! What’s this? Four hundred, five hundred, six hundred! Saved, by the celestial climbing cats! Saved!” He lay back, gasping. “Paul, Paul, listen to me,” he said, grabbing Paul by the hand. “You got to get to the office of Gunning & Strong—get the names, Gunning and Strong—Gunning is the man to ask for—Gunning & Strong, lawyers. Got to pay them before eleven thirty one thousand dollars to hold a big deal. Chance of a lifetime! Chance for a fortune! My third chance, and my last chance! Got to get that to them before eleven thirty. Pay it! Get a receipt! Go! Go! Run like ten thousand devils were huntin’ you. Don’t talk to me!” he cried, pushing Paul off from him. “I don’t know where these men are.” “You don’t know the town? Lord above!” “Draw me a map,” said Paul. “I can follow a trail.” With fingers that shook Tussock tore a leaf from a note book and drew a map showing the shortest route to the office of Gunning & Strong. “There! Follow that. Run! And come back quick. Go! Get out of this!” he fairly yelled. Impelled by his impetuosity, Paul rushed from the room, and in half an hour was back, receipt in hand, and with him a man whom Tussock greeted in enthusiastic welcome. “Hello, Con, you blasted old whale! Say, did you get that thing done?” “Nip and tuck, Dan!” replied the man. “This young fellow held them to it. Mighty smart, too. Got the deal cinched all right. But what has been biting you? What’s the matter?” “What’s the matter? What’s always the matter? What’s been the matter for twenty years? I am a fool, a golly-woggled, horn-shackled, blankety blank fool. That’s all. Nothing more. And this young fellow pulled me out of a hell hole last night, put me to bed, kissed me good night, and now is nursing me back to health. That is what I want, Con—a nurse, a keeper. I ain’t safe. I ought to be on a string, like a blankety blank poodle dog, muzzled and on a string! Say, boy!” he said, turning to Paul, “give me your hand. You’re a man, straight grained and white to the core. You want a job, eh?” “Yes, I do.” “You don’t want one any longer. You’ve got one now. You are hired with Dan Tussock, at one hundred and fifty per! And, by the eternal jumpin’ crickets! two hundred, if you keep me from making a gosh blamed fool of myself. Two hundred a month, do you hear? Start at one hundred and fifty, as time-keeper, book-keeper, anything you like! You show him the ropes tomorrow morning, eh, Con? We need ’im.”