The minute Bart set his eyes on the fellow he remembered having seen him
twice before--both times in this vicinity, both times looking wretched,
dejected and frightened.

The man started up, frightened now. He was about forty years old, very
shabby and threadbare in his attire, his thin pale face nearly covered
with a thick shock of hair and full black beard.

"Hello!" challenged Bart promptly.

"Oh, it's you, young Stirling," muttered the man, the haunted expression
in his eyes giving way to one of relief.

"Found a job yet?" asked Bart.

"I--haven't exactly been looking for work," responded the man, in an
embarrassed way.

"I should think you would," suggested Bart.

"See here," spoke the man, livening up suddenly. "I'll talk with you,
because you're the only friend I've found hereabouts. I'm in trouble,
and you can call it hiding if you like. I'm grateful to you for the help
you gave me the other night, for I was pretty nigh starved. But I don't
think you'd better notice me much, for I'm no good to anybody, and I
hope you won't call attention to my hanging around here."

"Why should I?" inquired Bart, getting interested. "I want to help you,
not harm you. I feel sorry for you, and I'd like to know a little more."