Saturday night and drink it all up, and then Sunday morning, when his
wife and children were hungry, go cryin' around Potter. Dinged if I'd
'a' helped him. But Potter'd take the food right off his breakfast table
and give it to him. I saw him do it! I don't think that's right. Not
when he's got four or five orphans of his own to care for."

"His own children?" I interrupted, trying to get the thing straight.

"No, sir; just children he picked up around, here and there."

Here is a curious character, sure enough, I thought--one well worth
looking into.

Another lull, and then as I was leaving the room to give the matter a
little quiet attention, I remarked to the boat-maker:

"Outside of his foolish giving, you haven't anything against Charlie
Potter, have you?"

"Not a thing," he replied, in apparent astonishment. "Charlie Potter's
one of the best men that ever lived. He's a good man."

I smiled at the inconsistency and went my way.

A day or two later the loft of the sail-maker, instead of the shed of
the boat-builder, happened to be my lounging place, and thinking of this
theme, now uppermost in my mind, I said to him:

"Do you know a man around here by the name of Charlie Potter?"