be brought to see the shop, too. So Helen ran
away. She could not bear any more gratitude from Sadie. Her heart was too
full.

She went over to poor Lurcher's lodgings and climbed the dark stairs to
his rooms. She had something to tell him, as well.

The purblind old man knew her step, although she had been there but a few
times.

"Come in, Miss. Yours are angel's visits, although they are more frequent
than angel's visits are supposed to be," he cried.

"I do hope you are keeping off the street this weather, Mr. Lurcher," she
said. "If you can mend shoes I have heard of a place where they will send
work to you, and call for it, and you can afford to have a warmer and
lighter room than this one."

"Ah, my dear Miss! that is good of you--that is good of you," mumbled the
old man. "And why you should take such an interest in _me_----?"

"I feel sure that you would be interested in me, if I were poor and
unhappy and you were rich and able to get about. Isn't that so?" she said,
laughing.

"Aye. Truly. And you _are_ rich, my dear Miss?"

"Very rich, indeed. Father was one of the big cattle kings of Montana, and
Prince Morrell's Sunset Ranch, they tell me, is one of the _great_
properties of the West."

The old man turned to look at her with some eagerness. "That name?" he
whispered. "_Who_ did you say?"

"Why--my father, Prince Morrell."

"Your father? Prince Morrell your father?" gasped the old man, and sat
down suddenly, shaking in every limb.

The girl instantly became excited, too. She stepped quickly to him and
laid her hand upon his shoulder.

"Did you ever know my father?" she asked him.

"I--I once knew a Mr. Prince Morrell."

"Was it here in New York you knew him?"

"Yes. It was years ago. He--he was a good man. I--I had not heard of him
for years. I was away from the city myself for ten years--in New Orleans.
I went there suddenly to take the position of head bookkeeper in a
shipping firm. Then the firm failed, my health was broken by the climate,
and I returned here."

Helen was staring at him in wonder and almost in alarm. She backed away
from him a bit toward the door.

"Tell me your real name!" she cried. "It's not Lurcher. Nor is it Jones.
No! don't tell me. I know--I know! You are Allen Chesterton, who was once
bookkeeper for the firm of Grimes & Morrell!"

CHAPTER XXIX

"THE WHIP HAND"

An hour later Helen and the old man hurried out of the lodging house and
Helen led h