judged legally dead and his
property divided. But that day as he turned away from the lake front, he
began to wonder about it. After all, since he meant to surrender himself
before long, why not telegraph collect to the old offices of the estate
in New York and have them wire him money? But even granting that they
were still in existence, he knew with what lengthy caution, following
stunned surprise, they would go about investigating the message. And
there were leaks in the telegraph. He would have a pack of newspaper
hounds at his heels within a few hours. The police, too. No, it wouldn't
do.

The next day he got a job as a taxicab driver, and that night and every
night thereafter he went back to West Madison Street and picked up one
or more of the derelicts there and bought them food. He developed
quite a system about it. He waited until he saw a man stop outside an
eating-house look in and then pass on. But one night he got rather
a shock. For the young fellow he accosted looked at him first with
suspicion, which was not unusual, and later with amazement.

"Captain Livingstone!" he said, and checked his hand as it was about to
rise to the salute. His face broke into a smile, and he whipped off his
cap. "You've forgotten me, sir," he said. "But I've got your visiting
card on the top of my head all right. Can you see it?"

He bent his head and waited, but on no immediate reply being
forthcoming, for Dick was hastily determining on a course of action, he
looked up. It was then that he saw Dick's cheap and shabby clothes, and
his grin faded.

"I say," he said. "You are Livingstone, aren't you? I'd have known--"

"I think you've made a mistake, old man," Dick said, feeling for his
words carefully. "That's not my name, anyhow. I thought, when I saw you
staring in at that window--How about it?"

The boy looked at him again, and then glanced away.

"I was looking, all right," he said. "I've been having a run of hard
luck."

It had been Dick's custom to eat with his finds, and thus remove from
the meal the quality of detached charity. Men who would not take money
would join him in a meal. But he could not face the lights with this
keen-eyed youngster. He offered him money instead.

"Just a lift," he said, awkwardly, when the boy hesitated. "I've been
there myself, lately."

But when at last he had prevailed and turned away he was conscious that
the doughboy was staring after him, puzzled and unconvinced.

He had