as you're goin' to pay me
and Pete, and it's business; I ain't so set against puttin' up what
the brick is worth."

Mr. Critz heaved a deep sigh of relief.

"You don't know how good that makes me feel," he said. "I was almost
losin' what faith in mankind I had left."

Mr. Gubb ate his frugal evening meals at the Pie Wagon, on Willow
Street, just off Main, where, by day, Pie-Wagon Pete dispensed light
viands; and Pie-Wagon Pete was the friend he had invited to share Mr.
Critz's generosity. The seal of secrecy had been put on Pie-Wagon
Pete's lips before Mr. Gubb offered him the opportunity to accept or
decline; and when Mr. Gubb stopped for his evening meal, Pie-Wagon
Pete--now off duty--was waiting for him. The story of Mr. Critz and
his amateur con' business had amused Pie-Wagon Pete. He could hardly
believe such utter innocence existed. Perhaps he did not believe it
existed, for he had come from the city, and he had had shady
companions before he landed in Riverbank. He was a sharp-eyed,
red-headed fellow, with a hard fist, and a scar across his face, and
when Mr. Gubb had told him of Mr. Critz and his affairs, he had seen
an opportunity to shear a country lamb.

"How goes it for to-night, Philo?" he asked Mr. Gubb, taking the stool
next to Mr. Gubb, while the night man drew a cup of coffee.

"Quite well," said Mr. Gubb. "Everything is arranged satisfactory. I'm
to be on the old house-boat by the wharf-house on the levee at nine,
with _it_." He glanced at the night man's back and lowered his voice.
"And Mr. Critz will bring you there."

"Nine, eh?" said Pie-Wagon. "I meet him at your room, do I?"

"You meet him at the Riverbank Hotel at eight-forty-five," said Mr.
Gubb. "Like it was the real thing. I'm goin' over to my room now, and
give him the money--"

"What money?" asked Pie-Wagon Pete quickly.

"Well, you see," said Mr. Gubb, "he sort of hated to trust the--trust
_it_ out of his hands without a deposit. It's the only one he has. So
I thought I'd put up a hundred dollars. He's all right--"

"Oh, sure!" said Pie-Wagon. "A hundred dollars, eh?"

He looked at Mr. Gubb, who was eating a piece of apple pie
hand-to-mouth fashion, and studied him in a new light.

"One hundred dollars, eh?" he repeated thoughtfully. "You give
him a hundred-dollar deposit now and he meets you at nine, and
me at eight-forty-five, and the train leaves for Chicago at
eight-forty-three, halfway between the house-boat and the ho