"What do you think, Mr. Galton?" he asked.

"It isn't a thing to think about," was Galton's answer. "It's a
thing I must be sure of."

"Well," said Tembarom, "if you give it to me, I'll put up a mighty
hard fight before I fall down."

Galton considered him, scrutinizing keenly his tough, long-built body,
his sharp, eager, boyish face, and especially his companionable grin.

"We'll let it go at that," he decided. "You'll make friends up in
Harlem, and you won't find it hard to pick up news. We can at least
try it."

Tembarom's heart jumped into his throat again, and he swallowed it
once more. He was glad he was not holding his hat in his hand because
he knew he would have forgotten himself and thrown it up into the air.

"Thank you, Mr. Galton," he said, flushing tremendously. "I'd like to
tell you how I appreciate your trusting me, but I don't know how.
Thank you, sir."

When he appeared in Mrs. Bowse's dining-room that evening there was a
glow of elation about him and a swing in his entry which attracted
all eyes at once. For some unknown reason everybody looked at him,
and, meeting his eyes, detected the presence of some new exultation.

"Landed anything, T. T.?" Jim Bowles cried out. "You look it."