Mr. Dodd, as I have done to few; and I believe--I trust--I may say that

I feel sure--you heard me with a kindly sentiment. This is what brings

me to your side at this most inexcusable hour. But put yourself in

my place--how could I sleep--how could I dream of sleeping, in this

blackness of remorse and despair? There was a friend at hand--so I

ventured to think of you; it was instinctive; I fled to your side,

as the drowning man clutches at a straw. These expressions are not

exaggerated, they scarcely serve to express the agitation of my mind.

And think, sir, how easily you can restore me to hope and, I may say,

to reason. A small loan, which shall be faithfully repaid. Five hundred

dollars would be ample." He watched me with burning eyes. "Four hundred

would do. I believe, Mr. Dodd, that I could manage with economy on two."

"And then you will repay me out of Carthew's pocket?" I said. "I am much

obliged. But I will tell you what I will do: I will see you on board a

steamer, pay your fare through to San Francisco, and place fifty dollars

in the purser's hands, to be given you in New York."

He drank in my words; his face represented an ecstasy of cunning

thought. I could read there, plain as print, that he but thought to

overreach me.

"And what am I to do in 'Frisco?" he asked. "I am disbarred, I have no

trade, I cannot dig, to beg----" he paused in the citation. "And you

know that I am not alone," he added, "others depend upon me."

"I will write to Pinkerton," I returned. "I feel sure he can help you

to some employment, and in the meantime, and for three months after

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