He spoke with apparent sincerity, but Florence did not feel certain
that his words were truthful.

"Very well," she said. "Then I will give up seeing him."

"It is best, unless you are ready to accede to his wishes--and mine."

She did not answer, but walked away slowly.

"It would never do to have them meet!" muttered Curtis. "The old
gentleman would ask her to come back on any terms, and then all my
scheming would be upset. That was a happy invention of mine, about
heart disease," he continued, with a low laugh. "Though she only half
believed it, she will not dare to run the risk of giving him a shock."

It was about this time that the quiet tenor of Dodger's life was
interrupted by a startling event.

He still continued to visit the piers, and one afternoon about six
o'clock, he stood on the pier awaiting the arrival of the day boat
from Albany, with a small supply of evening papers under his arm.

He had sold all but half a dozen when the boat touched the pier. He
stood watching the various passengers as they left the boat and turned
their steps in different directions, when some one touched him on the
shoulder.

Looking up, he saw standing at his side a man of slender figure, with
gray hair and whiskers.