sake, were you not?
entertained the boy till his pocket was empty, didn't you?" and the
lawyer cast a look of withering contempt on his visitor.

But Rhyming Joe did not wither. On the contrary, he broke into a merry
fit of laughter.

"Good joke on the lad, wasn't it?" he replied. "A little rough,
perhaps, but you see I was pretty hard up just then; hadn't had a
square meal before in two days. I'll not forget the boy's generosity,
though; I'll call and see him when he comes into his fortune; he'll be
delighted to receive me, I've no doubt.

"For a trifle like that he'll remember no more,
In the calm contemplation of favors of yore."

But, let that pass. That's a pretty shrewd scheme Old Simon has on
foot just now, isn't it? Did he get that up alone or did he have a
little legal advice? I wouldn't have said that he was quite up to it
all, himself. It's a big thing.

"A man may work hard with his hands and his feet
And find but poor lodging and little to eat.
But if he would gather the princeliest gains
He must smother his conscience and cudgel his brains."

Sharpman looked sternly across at his visitor. "Have you any business
with me?" he said; "if not, my time is very valuable, and I desire to
utilize it."

"I beg pardon, sir, if I have occupied time that is precious to you.
I had no particular object in calling except to gratify a slight
curiosity. I had a desire to know whether it was really understood
between you--that is whether the old man had enlightened you as to who
this boy actually is--that's all."

"There's no doubt as to who the boy is. If you've come here to give me
any information on that point, your visit will have been useless. His
identity is well established."

"Yes? Well, now I have the good-fortune to know all about that child,
and if you are laboring under the impression that he is a son of
Robert Burnham, you are very greatly mistaken. He is not a Burnham at
all."

Sharpman looked at the young man incredulously. "You do not expect
me to believe that?" he said. "You certainly do not mean what you
are saying?"

There was a noise in the outer room as of some one entering from
the street. Sharpman did not hear it; he was too busily engaged in
thinking. Rhyming Joe gave a quick glance at the room door, which
stood slightly ajar, then, turning in his chair to face the lawyer, he
said deliberately and with emphasis:--

"I say the boy Ralph is not Robert Burnham's son."

For