But he saw that Dick was very tired, and even a little indifferent.

He would be glad to know that his hands were clean, but against the

intimation that Beverly Carlysle had known more than she had disclosed

he presented a dogged front of opposition. After a time Bassett put the

papers away and essayed more general conversation, and there he found

himself met half way and more. He began to get Dick as a man, for the

first time, and as a strong man. He watched his quiet, lined face, and

surmised behind it depths of tenderness and gentleness. No wonder the

little Wheeler girl had worshipped him.

It was settled that Dick was to spend the night there, and such plans

as he had Bassett left until morning. But while he was unfolding the

bed-lounge on which Dick was to sleep, Dick opened a line of discussion

that cost the reporter an hour or two's sleep before he could suppress

his irritation.

"I must have caused you considerable outlay, one way and another," he

said. "I want to defray that, Bassett, as soon as I've figured out some

way to get at my bank account."

Bassett jerked out a pillow and thumped it.

"Forget it." Then he grinned. "You can fix that when you get your

estate, old man. Buy a newspaper and let me run it!"

He bent over the davenport and put the pillow in place. "All you'll have

to do is to establish your identity. The institutions that got it had to

give bond. I hope you're not too long for this bed."

But he looked up at Dick's silence, to see him looking at him with a

faint air of amusement over his pipe.

"They're going to keep the money, Bassett."

Bassett straightened and stared at him.

"Don't be a damned fool," he protested. "It's your money. Don't tell me

you're going to give it to suffering humanity. That sort of drivel makes

me sick. Take it, give it away if you like, but for God's sake don't

shirk your job."

Dick got up and took a turn or two around the room. Then, after an old

habit, he went to the window and stood looking out, but seeing nothing.

"It's not that, Bassett. I'm afraid of the accursed thing. I might talk

a lot of rot about wanting to work with my hands. I wouldn't if I didn't

have to, any more than the next fellow. I might fool myself, too, with

thinking I could work better without any money worries. But I've got to

remember this. It took work to make a man of me before, and it will take

work to keep me going the way I intend to go, if I get my freedom."




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