There was an eager, questioning look on the face of the tramp, as he stared at the gentleman upon whose privacy he had intruded--not a look of fear, but a look of curiosity. Thomas Browning misinterpreted it. He thought the man was speechless from alarm.

 

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" demanded Browning, sternly.

 

The answer considerably surprised him.

 

"Why, pard, it's you, is it?" said the man, with the air of one to whom a mystery was made plain.

 

"What do you mean by your impertinence?" asked the respectable Mr. Browning, angrily.

 

"Well, that's a good one! Who'd have thought that this 'ere mansion belonged to my old friend and pard?"

 

"What do you mean? Are you crazy, fellow?"

 

"No, I ain't crazy, as I know of, but I'm flabbergasted--that's what I am."

 

"Have done with this trifling and tell me why I shouldn't hand you over to the police?"

 

"I guess you won't do that, Tom Butler!" returned the burglar, coolly.

 

Browning stared in surprise and dismay at hearing his old name pronounced by this unsavory specimen of humanity.

 

"Who are you?" he demanded, quickly.

 

"Don't you know me?"

 

"No, I don't. I never saw you before. I don't associate with men of your class."

 

"Hear him now!" chuckled the tramp, in an amazed tone. "Why, Tom Butler, you an' me used to be pards. Don't you remember Jack King? Why, we've bunked together, and hunted for gold together, and almost starved together; but that was in the old days."

 

Browning looked the amazement he felt.

 

"Are you really Jack King?" he ejaculated, sinking back into an easy-chair, and staring hard at his unexpected visitor.

 

"I'm the same old coon, Tom, but I'm down at the heel, while you--do you really own this fine house, and these elegant fixin's?"

 

"Yes," answered Browning, mechanically.

 

"Well, you've fared better than I. I've been goin' down, down, till I've got about as far down as I can get."

 

"And you have become a burglar?"

 

"Well, a man must live, you know."

 

"You could work."

 

"Who would give such a lookin' man as I any work?"

 

"How did you get in?"

 

"That's my secret! You mustn't expect me to give myself away."

 

"And you had no idea whose house you were in?"

 

"I was told it belonged to a Mr. Browning."

 

"I am Mr. Browning--Thomas Browning."

 

"You! What has become of Butler?"

 

"I had good substantial reasons for changing my name--there was money in it, you understand."

 

"I'd like to change my own name on them terms. And now, Tom Butler, what are you going to do for me?"

 

Mr. Browning's face hardened. He felt no sympathy for the poor wretch with whom he had once been on terms of intimacy. He felt ashamed to think that they had ever been comrades, and he resented the tone of familiarity with which this outcast addressed him--a reputable citizen, a wealthy capitalist, a man whose name had been more than once mentioned in connection with the mayor's office.

 

"I'll tell you what I ought to do," he said, harshly.

 

"Well?"

 

"I ought to call a policeman, and give you in charge for entering my house as a burglar."

 

"You'd better not do that," he said without betraying alarm.

 

"Why not? Why should I not treat you like any other burglar?"

 

"Because--but I want to ask you a que............