ost and deeply wronged cousin?

"Who is it that says he is your father?" he demanded, abruptly.

"Do you want to get him into trouble?"

"No, I don't want to get him into trouble, or you either. Better tell
me all, and I will be your friend."

"You're a better sort than I thought at first," said Dodger. "The man
I live with is called Tim Bolton."

"I though so," quickly ejaculated Curtis. He had scarcely got out the
words before he was sensible that he had made a mistake.

"What! do you know Tim?" inquired Dodger, in surprise.

"I mean," replied Curtis, lamely, "that I have heard of this man
Bolton. He keeps a saloon on the Bowery, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"I thought you would be living with some such man. Did he come to the
house with you tonight?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

"He stayed outside."

"Perhaps he is there now."

"Don't you go to having him arrested," said Dodger, suspiciously.

"I will keep my promise. Are you sure you didn't pass out the paper
and the money to him? Think now."

"No, I didn't. I didn't have a chance. When I came into the room
yonder I saw the gal asleep, and I thought she wouldn't hear me, but
when I got the desk open she spoke to me, and asked me what I was
doin'."

"And you took nothing?"

"No."

"It seems very strange. I cannot understand it. Yet my uncle says the
money is gone. Did anyone else enter the room while you were talking
with Miss Linden?"

"I didn't see any one."

"What were you talking about?"

"She said the old man wanted her to marry you, and she didn't want
to."

"She told you that?" exclaimed Curtis, in displeasure.

"Yes, she did. She said she'd rather marry the dude that was here
early this evenin'."

"Mr. de Brabazon!"

"Yes, that's the name."

"Upon my word, she was very confidential. You are a queer person for
her to select as a confidant."

"Maybe so, sir; but she knows I'm her friend."

"You like the young lady, then? Perhaps you would like to marry her
yourself?"

"As if she'd take any notice of a poor boy like me. I told her if her
uncle sent her away, I'd take care of her and be a brother to her."

"How would Mr. Tim Bolton--that's his name, isn't it?--like that?"

"I wouldn't take her to where he lives."

"I think, myself, it would hardly be a suitable home for a young lady
brought up on Madison Avenue. There is certainly no accounting for
tastes. Miss Florence----"

"That's her name, is it?"

"Yes; didn't she tell