"How's trade, Slimy?" inquired Mr. Woodstock.

"Which trade, Mr. Woodstock?" asked the man in return, in a very
husky voice.

"Oh, trade in general."

"There never was sich times since old Scratch died," replied Slimy,
shaking his head. "No chance for a honest man."

"Then you're in luck. This is the new collector, d'you see."

"I've been a-looking at him," said Slimy, whose one eye, for all
that, had seemed busy all the time in quite a different direction.
"I seen him somewheres, but I can't just make out where."

"Not many people you haven't seen, I think," said Abraham, nodding,
as he went out of the room. Waymark followed, and was glad to get
into the open streets again.





CHAPTER XIII

A MAN-TRAP