his case was won, and
that they were to go from the breakfast table to Morgan & Stroud's to
enter the road to competence.

As if answering his thoughts, Tweet said:

"I'm a mystery to you, ain't I? I don't use very good grammar, but I
talk sense. I'm talkin' about makin' piles o' money, and I'm gettin'
my breakfast off o' you, ain't I? If I really was the heavy hitter I'm
advertisin' myself to be I wouldn't condescend to take you on, would I?
That's what you been thinkin', ain't it?

"Take those hobos up in the lodgin' house, for instance. Curiosity's
eatin' their hearts out in regard to me. They know I ain't a tramp,
yet they see me float smoothly along among 'em and never strike a
discord. I don't seem to mix with 'em, neither do I seem to keep aloof
from 'em. I'm there and I ain't there--see? If they only knew it,
I've tramped miles to their feet. Yet I never was a regular tramp.

"On the other hand, when I'm hob-nobbin' with the upper class I keep
them guessin'. I talk kinda crude, yet what I say seems to be worth
listenin' to. I go into a flash hotel or cafe and never stumble over
anything, or knock the carafe off the table, or order corned-beef hash
when the menu card looks like an advanced lesson in _parlez vous_.
They take me to the circus to amuse me, and I come back at 'em with
grand opera.

"So that's the way it goes, and you'll savvy more about it when you see
more o' me. At present I'm goin' to take you away from Frisco and, if
somethin' turns up, give you a start. I'm doin't this principally
because I need your little roll to tide me over till I get a workin'
stake. I'm frank about it. But I may learn to like you. You appear
to be sorta bright."

Tweet pushed back his chair. "Now we'll go down to Morgan & Stroud's
and get out where we c'n go to work and do somethin', and have a chance
to look about and think."

Protestations died on Hiram's lips, and he dutifully rose and followed.

There was a cigar case on the cashier's counter, and Tweet leaned over
it, looking down at the contents, while Hiram laid his check beside the
cash register and fumbled for his pocketbook. He produced a dollar and
laid it on the check, then looked about for some one to receive them.
The space behind the counter was empty, but from a little inclosed
portion of the window came the slow, labored clicking of typewriter
keys.

"Tap the dollar on the show case," suggested Tweet.

Hiram tapped the glass.