"Be seated," he said, "and tell me your story."

"I am the only son of the Rev. Arthur Crips, of Bolton, Lancashire,
England," said Nickie. "My father held a good living. He intended to make
a doctor of me. He brought me up always with that intention, lavished
much money on me, and from the time I was fourteen I understood I was to
live the life of a gentleman. Before my education was completed my father
died, and I found that he had been led into speculation and we were
ruined. Not only ruined, but disgraced. The shock killed my mother. I
came to Australia. Unwittingly, without a chance of saving myself, I sank
and drifted till I found myself a mere tramp. For years I have been a
tattered, unclean, despised outcast. Yesterday I heard you preach; I was
outside under a window too despicable a creature to enter among you trim
flock. Your sermon reminded me of what I was, showed me to myself, made
the future horribly real to me. I was inspired to fight, to try and work
myself out of the slough into which I have drifted, and I have come to
you for help. I am here." Nickie the Kid opened his arms with a dramatic
gesture--his face was very sad.

"Liar!" said the young clergyman looking Nickie straight in the eye.
"Liar!" he repeated.

Nickie looked back into the eye of the clergyman. His face betrayed no
amazement. For a moment it was grave, almost reproachful, and then it
relaxed into a broad grin. The device had failed--there was no further
occasion for subterfuge.

"Well," Mr. Crips admitted, "I don't pretend to be a George Washington. I
may have been betrayed into errors of detail."