o win himself.

Of course, Philip did not know that he was a victim, and that his chosen
friend, Congreve, was a skillful sharper, who had practiced his art on
Western steamboats, and was sure to get the better of him.

Why had he remained in this country village so long? Surely, it didn't
pay him to fleece one victim, and that one a boy.

I can give the explanation.

He had been leading a fast life for a year back, and a physician whom he
consulted had recommended country air and quiet for the summer.

"Unless you follow my directions, Mr. Congreve," he said, "I won't
answer for your life. You have been going at too quick a pace
altogether."

James was sensible enough to follow this advice, and that is why we find
him a guest at the quiet village hotel.

The physician's advice proved to be good. His wasted energies were
recuperated, his thin cheeks filled out and showed a healthy color, his
appetite improved, and he felt himself again.

When the first week in September arrived, he felt that he was well
enough to go back to the city, to more congenial scenes. He was heartily
tired of the country, and anxious to get away. Only one thing remained
to be done, and that was to collect what Philip owed him.

"I can't wait any longer," he said to himself. "I must compel the boy to
pay up. It will liquidate my hotel bill and leave me something over. I
can't let the thing stand any longer."

Soon after he had come to this conclusion, Philip entered his friend's
chamber.

"How are you, Phil?" said Congreve, carelessly.

"All right!"

"By the way, I've got some news for you."

"What is it?"

"I'm going away."

"Going away? Where?"

"Back to the city first. I have an urgent summons from my friends
there."

"How soon do you go?"

"That depends upon you."

"Upon me? I don't understand!" said Philip, puzzled.

"You ought to. As soon as you have paid me what you owe me. I need it to
enable me to settle up at the hotel."

Philip turned pale. It was just what he had worried over many a
time--this terrible debt, which he felt utterly unable to liquidate.

"How much is it?" he asked, nervously.

"How much? Really, I haven't reckoned it up yet; but I will," said
Congreve, carelessly.

He took out his wallet, and drew out a variety of papers, to which
Philip's signature was attached.

Then he sat down at a table, took a pencil from his pocket, set the
different sums on paper, and added them up deliberately