know. You can't stay here."

"For God's sake!" said the man. "For God's sake!" He put his shaking
hand on Tembarom again, and looked at him with a bewildered scrutiny.
"I'm not afraid of you," he said; "I don't know why. There's
something all right about you. If you'll stand by me--you'd stand by
a man, I'd swear. Take me somewhere quiet. Let me get warm and think."

"The less you think now the better," answered Tembarom. "You want a
bed and a bath and a night's rest. I guess I've let myself in for it.
You brush off and brace yourself and come with me."

There was the hall bedroom and the red-cotton comfort for one night
at least, and Mrs. Bowse was a soft-hearted woman. If she'd heard the
fellow sobbing behind the fence, she'd have been in a worse fix than
he was. Women were kinder-hearted than men, anyhow. The way the
fellow's voice sounded when he said, "Help me, help me, help me!"
sounded as though he was in hell. "Made me feel as if I was bracing
up a chap that was going to be electrocuted," he thought, feeling
sickish again. "I've not got backbone enough to face that sort of
thing. Got to take him somewhere."

They were walking toward the "L" together, and he was wondering what
he should say to Mrs. Bowse when he saw his companion fumbling under
his coat at the back as though he was in search of something. His
hands being unsteady, it took him some moments to get at what he
wanted. He evidently had a belt or a hidden pocket. He got something
out and stopped under a street light to show it to Tembarom. His
hands still shook when he held them out, and his look was a curious,
puzzled, questioning one. What he passed over to Tembarom was a roll