Two weeks passed by. For the most of the time Charles stayed close in the larger room, which he and Mason now occupied together, with a view to the utmost economy. They had become warm friends. When Charles's funds were almost exhausted Mason received a check for fifty dollars in payment of a debt owed him by a brother-in-law in the West, and Charles had to share it. Mason never again alluded to the discovery he had made in regard to the trouble Charles was in, excepting once, when they were walking together in a crowded street on the East Side, and he had noticed that Charles seemed to be slightly nervous. "Leave it to me," said Mason, suddenly. "I'll keep a sharp watch out, and I'll let you know if I see the slightest thing that looks fishy. Keep your mind off of it. I don't want to know any more about it, either. From what you say I gather that you are bound by some promise or other to keep your mouth eternally closed, even to a friend like me. That's all right. I admire you all the more for it. You may be a thief to those Boston folks, but you are not to me. The fact that you don't even deny the charge means nothing to me." Upon another occasion, one rainy evening Mason took up the framed photograph of Ruth which Charles always had on the bureau, table, or mantelpiece, and stood admiring it. "Say, pal," he said, suddenly, as he wiped the glass over the little face with his handkerchief, "if I ever leave you I'll want to steal this thing. It has grown on me. She must be a beauty, and so sweet and gentle." Charles rose, took the picture into his hands, and stood looking at it steadily. "I wouldn't take the world for it," he said. "I think I know something about her--I can guess. You say you used to drink hard at one time, though you don't now." "Yes, that's true, but what else?" Charles went on, still feasting his homesick eyes on the picture. "I don't want to bring up things that will pain you for no good in the world," Mason said, "so let's drop it." "No, go ahead," Charles urged, half smiling. "I want you to finish, for I think, from some little things you have dropped now and then, that you are mistaken about me--in one particular, at least." "Well," Mason went on, "I have an idea that you were once happily married and that--well, the old habit got the upper hand so far that your wife took the little girl and went away." "Wrong, old man," Charles said, with a weary smile. "I've never been married." "Ah, then she is a little sister?"