on!" interrupted Davy. "You've sheltered me, fed me--"

"--with grub bought with your money," interposed Welborn. "You can't
avoid past contributions by present-day denials, Laddie. Without your
help it would have taken me ten years to do what I've now done in six
months. And speed was and is the important requirement. In addition to
all you've done in the past months I've still got another problem for
you to work on."

Welborn paused, seemingly embarrassed as to how to proceed. His little
audience waited breathlessly. "Folks, I am not a criminal!" he said
after a prolonged pause. "But I did get involved with gangsters.
Although I made a temporary clean-up on some of them, domestic affairs
and financial disasters made it impossible to stay on. It seemed
cowardly to quit but there was no other way. I had no plans, no trade,
no profession. I simply stumbled in on this method of financial
recovery, and thanks to your kindly indulgence I am prepared to go
back and make good some financial matters that were not of my making.

"But in going back," Welborn continued, "I would like to know
something about conditions there before they know who I am. There
seems to be two ways to do this. One would be to camp nearby and send
someone to investigate and report back as to conditions; the other
would be for me to disguise myself and loaf around as a laborer,
unemployed and looking for work.

"You know something about make-up and disguises, Laddie; could I be
made up as a laborer or a village loafer so I could sit around and
listen in?"

"You would have to let them shoulders down and pad a hump in your
back," replied the little man. "Appearances can be radically changed
but size is a handicap. There is a woman in Denver by the name of
Wallace that can make you up to look like either an angel or a tramp.
She used to be in vaudeville with costumes and makeup, now she's
settled down in the legit--furnishes costumes for plays, charades, and
the like. She's on one of those little side streets near the business
district. She'll clip your head, deck you out in scraggy iron-gray
hair and whiskers until a bank clerk would turn you down, even if you
were identified. She'll tell you about your clothing; that's her
specialty. Your ragged coat ought to have a hump in the back to offset
erectness and if you carry a cane, you should use it--not twirl it
like a baton.

"But there's one of your assets, or weaknesses, that she will not be
able