you, Jerry. Speak out openly, please."

"Oh, very well, then, I will, even if it costs me my place. You see,
I've burnt my fingers, so that I know," and these words came fast. "I
can't help seeing when anyone's getting into the fire."

"Do you mean, in plain English, Jerry, that Mr Lacey is betting and
gambling?"

"That's just what I do mean, in plain English."

"But it seems impossible, situated as he is."

"With a hangel to take care of him? It do."

"He never seemed to me to be a man who would care for such things."

"More he would if he wasn't led on to it. It is his doing--him, I
mean!"

"My cousin?"

"That's him; and I'm beginning to think you ought to do something as
soon as you're well enough. Speak up, and say who you are and why
you're here."

"They'd call me an impostor, Jerry."

"What, when you've got me for a witness? Not they, sir; I can prove
anything. You ought to do something. You ought indeed."

"Must get well first, Jerry."

"Of course, no one can't be expected to do much when he's weak as you
are. But as soon as you feel strong enough, do pray make a start; and,
just look here, it's your dooty--it is, indeed. If you don't, him as
has shown himself your friend 'll be suffering for it, and if he does,
so will somebody else."

"Let me get well," said Dick, knitting his brows.

"Well, I will; but, look here, if you don't, my conscience won't let me
hold my tongue no longer; I shall speak out myself."

"You wouldn't dare, Jerry, after your promise."

The doctor's visit brought Jerry's to an end, and at last Dick was left
alone to think out his position and what he ought to do.

But he could not plan just then; he was too weak, and his head grew
confused.

"It will have to wait," he said with a sigh. "Everything in the past
seems now like part of a dream, and I'm beginning to feel as if I really
am Dick Smithson, and that I have no right to think anything about Mark.
Yes, my head feels all wrong, and as if that weary time was coming
back. What did the doctor say--that I must sleep all I can? I will."

His eyelids were already drooping from sheer weariness, and a few
minutes later he was lying back fast asleep, with nature working
steadily and well to build up his strength.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE MISSING MAN.

Jerry Brigley was operating upon his master's head, a few days later,
with a couple of hair-brushes, and these he used in the most dexterous
manne