Dodger paused, but only briefly. This young man looked friendly, and
might help him to penetrate the mystery which at present baffled him.

At any rate, his experience qualified him to give friendly advice, and
of this Dodger felt that he stood in need.

"I ought to tell you, to begin with," he said, "that I am a poor boy,
and made my living as best I could, by carrying baggage, selling
papers, etc."

"I don't think any the worse of you for that. Did you live at the
lodging houses?"

"No; until lately I lived with a man who keeps a saloon on the Bowery,
and tended bar for him."

"What was his name? As a reporter I know the Bowery pretty well."

"Tim Bolton."

"Tim Bolton? I know his place well. I think I must have seen you
there. Your face looked familiar to me as soon as I set eyes on you."

"Very likely. A good many people came into Tim's. I couldn't pretend
to remember them all."

"Was Tim a relative of yours?"

"I don't believe he was. I always thought that he got hold of me when