"A week--a month--six months," replied his guest sleepily. "It's all
according--"

"Accordin' to what?"

"Well--er--circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"Circumstances over which I have no control--yet!"

"You don't mean me?" queried Spike, with an anxious expression.

"Lord, no!"

"And you'll never tell nobody that I--that I--"

"Meant to be--a thief?" drawled Mr. Ravenslee. "Not a word!"

Spike flushed, took a gulp of coffee, choked, and fell to sulky silence,
while Mr. Ravenslee filled his pipe and yawned.

"Say," demanded Spike at last, "where'll you live while you're here?"

"Oh--somewhere, I suppose; I haven't bothered about where yet."

"Well, I been thinkin' I know where I can fix you up--perhaps!"

"Very kind of you, Spike!"