f my skates it's my intention to _give_ them away,
not sell them."

He turned to do something at the desk where he was sitting.
Meanwhile, Nick had shuffled away, as though meaning to leave the
room. When Hugh looked up he was half-way through the door, and
turning to say with a sneer:

"I ain't going to forget this on you, Hugh Morgan, believe me. I
thought I'd give you a chanct to smooth over the rough places
between us; but I see you don't want anything to do with a feller
who's got the reputation they give me. All right, keep your old
skates then!"

With that he hurried down the stairs. And a minute afterwards Hugh,
happening to glance over to the table at the side of the room, made
a startling discovery. The skates had disappeared!

CHAPTER III

GIVING NICK A CHANCE

"Why, he cribbed them after all!" Hugh exclaimed, as he jumped to his
feet, and hurried over to the table, hardly able to believe his own
eyes.

Something caught his attention. A dirty dollar bill and a fifty cent
silver piece lay in place of the skates. Then Nick had not exactly
_stolen_ Hugh's property, but imagined that this forced sale might
keep him within the law.

Hugh at first flush felt indignant. He gave the money an angry look,
as though scorning it, despite the hard work Nick may have done and
sacrifices also made in order to build up that small amount.

"Why, the contemptible scamp, I'll have to set Chief Wambold after
him, and recover my skates!" he said, warmly for him. "Serve him
right, too, if this is the last straw on the camel's back, to send
him to the House of Refuge for a spell. He is a born thief, I do
believe, and ought to be treated just like one."

Hugh, aroused by the sense of injustice, and a desire to turn the
tables on the slippery Nick, even stepped forward to snatch up his
cap, with the full intention of hurrying out to see if he could
overtake the thief; and, if not, continuing on until he came to the
office of the police force. Then he stopped short with a gasp.

He had suddenly remembered something. Into his mind rushed the
details of a certain recent conversation in which he had indulged
with his closest chum, Thad Stevens. Again he saw the picture of
that good priest of the story, looking so benignly upon the wretched
Jean Valjean, brought into his presence with the valuable silver
candlesticks and spoons found in his possession, which he kept
insisting his late host had presented him