"My name's Snark--Theobald D. Snark," he said shortly, thrusting a card
into Garrison's passive hand. "I am an eminent lawyer, and would be
obliged if you would favor me with a five minutes' interview in my
office--American Tract Building."

"Don't know you," said Garrison blandly.

"You'll like me when you do," supplemented the eminent lawyer coolly.
"Merely a matter of business, you understand. You look as if a little
business wouldn't hurt you."

"Feel worse," added Billy mildly, inspecting his crumpled outfit.

He was very hungry. He caught eagerly at this quondam opening. Perhaps
it would be the means of starting him in some legitimate business. Then
a wild idea came to him, and slowly floated away again as he remembered
that Mr. Snark had agreed that he did not know him. But while it lasted,
the idea had been a thrilling one for a penniless, homeless wanderer.
It had been: Supposing this lawyer knew him? Knew his real identity, and
had tracked him down for clamoring relatives and a weeping father
and mother? For to Garrison his parents might have been criminals or
millionaires so far as he remembered.

The journey to Nassau Street was completed in silence, Mr. Snark
centering all his faculties on his teeth, and Garrison on the probable
outcome of this chance meeting.

The eminent lawyer's office was in a corner of the fifth shelf of the
American Tract Building bookcase. It was unoccupied, Mr. Snark being so