“Only what I made myself. Listen to me, Mr. Hamlin. When Jack proposed to me, I offered him about what I kalkilated I could earn myself. When he went away, and was sick and in trouble, I came here and took this hotel. I knew that by hard work I could make it pay. Don't laugh at me, please. I DID work hard, and DID make it pay--without takin' one cent of the fortin'. And all I made, workin' by night and day, I gave to him. I did, Mr. Hamlin. I ain't so hard to him as you think, though I might be kinder, I know.” Mr. Hamlin rose, deliberately resumed his coat, watch, hat, and overcoat. When he was completely dressed again, he turned to Peg. “Do you mean to say that you've been givin' all the money you made here to this A 1 first-class cherubim?” “Yes; but he didn't know where I got it. O Mr. Hamlin! he didn't know that.” “Do I understand you, that he's bin buckin agin Faro with the money that you raised on hash? And YOU makin' the hash?” “But he didn't know that, he wouldn't hev took it if I'd told him.” “No, he'd hev died fust!” said Mr. Hamlin gravely. “Why, he's that sensitive--is Jack Folinsbee--that it nearly kills him to take money even of ME. But where does this angel reside when he isn't fightin' the tiger, and is, so to speak, visible to the naked eye?” “He--he--stops here,” said Peg, with an awkward blush. “I see. Might I ask the number of his room--or should I be a--disturbing him in his meditations?” continued Jack Hamlin, with grave politeness. “Oh! then you'll promise? And you'll talk to him, and make HIM promise?” “Of course,” said Hamlin quietly. “And you'll remember he's sick--very sick? His room's No. 44, at the end of the hall. Perhaps I'd better go with you?” “I'll find it.” “And you won't be too hard on him?” “I'll be a father to him,” said Hamlin demurely, as he opened the door and stepped into the hall. But he hesitated a moment, and then turned, and gravely held out his hand. Peg took it timidly. He did not seem quite in earnest; and his black eyes, vainly questioned, indicated nothing. But he shook her hand warmly, and the next moment was gone. He found the room with no difficulty. A faint cough from within, and a querulous protest, answered his knock. Mr. Hamlin entered without further ceremony. A sickening smell of drugs, a palpable flavor of stale dissipation, and the wasted figure of Jack Folinsbee, half-dressed, extended upon the bed, greeted him. Mr. Hamlin was for an instant startled. There were hollow circles round the sick man's eyes; there was palsy in his trembling limbs; there was dissolution in his feverish breath. “What's up?” he asked huskily and nervously. “I am, and I want YOU to get up too.” “I can't, Jack. I'm regularly done up.” He reached his shaking hand towards a glass half-filled with suspicious, pungent-smelling liquid; but Mr. Hamlin stayed it. “Do you want to get back that two thousand dollars you lost?” “Yes.” “Well, get up, and marry that woman down stairs.”