"How--how can you?" stammered the terrified boy.

"Leave that to me. I know a lot I'll tell you afterward. Go ahead, now, and
don't you show one particle of fear. Leave the door ajar a little, just as
it is. I'm no eavesdropper, but on the present occasion I'm mightily
interested in seeing and hearing all that's going on."

There was something unaccountable about Ned Foreman's dread of his
professed relative. He passed into the reception-room, but he was trembling
all over and his face was pale and frightened.

President Elliott sat near a table, and the tramp whom Frank knew as Tim
Brady was standing up in front of him.

He did not look much like the fellow Frank had rescued Ned from at Tipton.

In his hand he carried a high silk hat. He was clean shaven, and his hair
was combed and plastered down over his bullet head. His clerical-looking
frock coat was buttoned up to the chin. His face was drawn in a
hypocritical expression of great concern.

"Ah, my boy! my boy!" he exclaimed, jumping about and rushing at Ned,
extending both hands as if about to greet some beloved friend.

Ned Foreman shrank from his obnoxious relative in horror.