ng--Thomas Browning."

"You! What has become of Butler?"

"I had good substantial reasons for changing my name--there was money
in it, you understand."

"I'd like to change my own name on them terms. And now, Tom Butler,
what are you going to do for me?"

Mr. Browning's face hardened. He felt no sympathy for the poor wretch
with whom he had once been on terms of intimacy. He felt ashamed to
think that they had ever been comrades, and he resented the tone of
familiarity with which this outcast addressed him--a reputable
citizen, a wealthy capitalist, a man whose name had been more than
once mentioned in connection with the mayor's office.

"I'll tell you what I ought to do," he said, harshly.

"Well?"

"I ought to call a policeman, and give you in charge for entering my
house as a burglar."

"You'd better not do that," he said without betraying alarm.

"Why not? Why should I not treat you like any other burglar?"

"Because--but I want to ask you a question."

"What did you do with that money Walton gave you on his deathbed?"

"What do you mean?" he faltered.

"Just what I say. What did you do with Walton's money?"

"I am at a loss to understand your meaning."

"No, you are not. However, I am ready to explain. On his deathbed
Walton gave you ten thousand dollars to carry to his wife and family.
Did you do it?"

"Who told you this?"

"It is unnecessary for me to say. It is enough that I know it. At the
time you were poor enough. You might have had a few hundred dollars of
your own, but certainly not much more. Now--it isn't so many years
ago--I find you a rich man. Of course, I have my own ideas of how this
came about."

"Do you mean to accuse me of dishonesty?" demanded Browning, angrily.

"I don't accuse you of anything. I am only thinking of what would be
natural under the circumstances. I'm not an angel myself, Tom Butler,
and I can't say but the money might have miscarried if it had been
handed to me instead of to you. I wish it had; I wouldn't be the
miserable-looking wretch I am now."

"Walton handed me some money," said Browning, cautiously--"not ten
thousand dollars--and I handed it to his family."

"Where did they live?"

"In a country town," he answered, glibly.

"I was thinking I might run across Mrs. Walton some day," he said,
significantly. "She would be glad to see me, as I knew her late
husband in California."

"She is dead," said Browning, hastily.

"Dead! How long since?"