e met you before."

"It's not likely that you have, not at all likely. My name is Craft,
Simon Craft. I live in Philadelphia when I'm at home."

"Ah! Philadelphia is a fine city. What can I do for you, Mr. Craft?"

"That isn't the question, sir. The question is, what can _I_ do for
_you_?"

The old man looked carefully around the room, rose, went to the door,
which had been left ajar, closed it noiselessly, and resumed his seat.

"Well," said Mr. Burnham, calmly, "what can you do for me?"

"Much," responded the old man, resting his elbows on the table in
front of him; "very much if you will give me your time and attention
for a few moments."

"My time is at your disposal," replied Burnham, smiling, and leaning
back in his chair somewhat wearily, "and I am all attention; proceed."

Thus far the old man had succeeded in arousing in his listener only
a languid curiosity. This coal magnate was accustomed to being
interrupted by "cranks" of all kinds, as are most rich men, and
often enjoyed short interviews with them. This one had opened the
conversation in much the usual manner, and the probability seemed to
be that he would now go on to unfold the usual scheme by which his
listener's thousands could be converted into millions in an incredibly
short time, under the skilful management of the schemer. But his very
next words dispelled this idea and aroused Robert Burnham to serious
attention.

"Do you remember," the old man asked, "the Cherry Brook bridge
disaster that occurred near Philadelphia some eight years ago?"

"Yes," replied Burnham, straightening up in his chair, "I do; I have
good reason to remember it. Were you on that train?"

"I was on that train. Terrible accident, wasn't it?"

"Terrible; yes, it was terrible indeed."

"Wouldn't have been quite so bad if the cars hadn't taken fire and
burned up after they went down, would it?"

"The fire was the most distressing part of it; but why do you ask me
these questions?"

"You were on board, I believe, you and your wife and your child, and
all went down. Isn't that so?"

"Yes, it is so. But why, I repeat, are you asking me these questions?
It is no pleasure to me to talk about this matter, I assure you."

Craft gave no heed to this protest, but kept on:--

"You and your wife were rescued in an unconscious state, were you not,
just as the fire was creeping up to you?"

The old man seemed to take delight in torturing his hearer by
calling up painf