arthy; rather short, I imagine, with
curly, black hair."

"Turn that upside down, inside out and stretch it and you'll have it,"
said I.

She laughed and left the room.

What a charming fellow Jim was to get on with! Perhaps those virtues had
been his resources in a wild career of crime and his strongest allies in
effecting a concealment of his true self. Thus my analytical mind
threshed out the ramifications of possibilities. My intimate relations
with him for so many years further convinced me that if he had followed
that long career of crime outlined by Tescheron he must have begun when
he was playing "Injuns" up in Oswegatchie County.

Then I would cheer myself with the thought that something in Jim's favor
would turn up soon and all would be well again, and we would get a new
outfit of stuff for about eighty-five dollars--that's what we paid
before--and start in housekeeping again; perhaps on the second floor, so
as to get in line with the inexorable law of falling bodies.

Mr. Tescheron, I supposed, would somehow blame Jim for the fire and
count it part of the grand plot to seize his daughter. Well, it was all
too much for me, with my weak body and easily fatigued brain. It was
hard work to keep my nerves calm under the circumstances.

My brother Silas had come down to see me, but when I began to mend he
returned to Oswegatchie County, completely worn out with three weeks'
tramping on city sidewalks. He made a number of inquiries for me
concerning Hosley at the City Hall and among our old neighbors. He could
learn nothing, however, so it was clear that Jim had departed for parts
unknown. Silas carried back the news of my returning health to the
folks, and was also able to inform them that the cars ran all night down
here in New York--a matter they had never seen reported in the papers
and I had never referred to in my letters. When he left, I was as
lonesome as a retired pork packer dabbling in the fine arts. It seemed
that

"Turn where'er I may I find
Thorns where roses bloomed before
O'er the green fields of my soul;
Where the springs of joy were found,
Now the clouds of sorrow roll,
Shading all the prospect round."

These lines of George P. Morris came to mind, and they, too, recalled
Jim Hosley and the early days when I began to be the middleman in his
love affairs, and gave my aid to his amorous cause by writing his love
letters. I had worked Shakespeare, Scott, Burns