house, and contained some
of its gorgeous furniture, he was installed at a rosewood desk behind
Mr. Mulrady's chair, as his confidential clerk and private secretary.
The astonishment of Red Dog and Rough-and-Ready at this singular
innovation knew no bounds; but the boldness and novelty of the idea
carried everything before it. Judge Butts, the oracle of
Rough-and-Ready, delivered its decision: "He's got a man who's
physically incapable of running off with his money, and has no memory
to run off with his ideas. How could he do better?" Even his own son,
Harry, coming upon his father thus installed, was for a moment struck
with a certain filial respect, and for a day or two patronized him.

In this capacity Slinn became the confidant not only of Mulrady's
business secrets, but of his domestic affairs. He knew that young
Mulrady, from a freckle-faced slow country boy, had developed into a
freckle-faced fast city man, with coarse habits of drink and gambling.
It was through the old man's hands that extravagant bills and shameful
claims passed on their way to be cashed by Mulrady; it was he that at
last laid before the father one day his signature perfectly forged by
the son.

"Your eyes are not ez good ez mine, you know, Slinn," said Mulrady,
gravely. "It's all right. I sometimes make my Y's like that. I'd
clean forgot to cash that check. You must not think you've got the
monopoly of disremembering," he added, with a faint laugh.

Equally through Slinn's hands passed the record of the lavish
expenditure of Mrs. Mulrady and the fair Mamie, as well as the
chronicle of their movements and fashionable triumphs. As Mulrady had
already noticed that Slinn had no confidence with his own family, he
did not try to withhold from them these domestic details, possibly as
an offset to the dreary catalogue of his son's misdeeds, but more often
in the hope of gaining from the taciturn old man some comment that
might satisfy his innocent vanity as father and husband, and perhaps
dissipate some doubts that were haunting him.

"Twelve hundred dollars looks to be a good figger for a dress, ain't
it? But Malviny knows, I reckon, what ought to be worn at the
Tooilleries, and she don't want our Mamie to take a back seat before
them furrin' princesses and gran' dukes. It's a slap-up affair, I
kalkilate. Let's see. I disremember whether it's an emperor or a king
that's rulin' over thar now. It must be suthin' first class and A1,
f