nd rich only in the companionship of a bright-eyed,
four-year-old youngster who had been trusted to my care. You remember
very little of that period, I suppose; but it is all vivid enough to me,
even now,--how we tramped up and down Broadway, you chattering away,
excited and happy, while I was wondering what I should do when that last
dollar was gone.

"Then, just when things seem blackest, arrived opportunity,--the
Birmingham boom. I ran across one of the boomers, who was struck with
the brilliant idea that he could make use of my peculiar talents in
making known the coming glories of the new South. But I must join him at
once, that very day. And he waved yellow-backed bills at me. I simply
had to drop you and go. Mother Leary promised to take care of you for
three months, or until your--well, until someone else claimed you. I
sent word to them both, at least I tried to, and rushed gayly down into
Dixie. Perhaps you never heard of the bursting of that first Birmingham
boom? It was an abrupt but very-complete smash. I came out of it owning
two gorgeous suits of clothes, one silk hat, and an opulent-looking
pocketbook, bulging with thirty-day options on corner lots. One of the
clerks in our office staked me with carfare to Atlanta, where I got a
job collecting tenement house rents.

"Since then I've been up and down. Half a dozen times I've almost had
my fingers on the tail feathers of fortune: only to stumble into some
hidden pit of poverty. And in time--well, time mends all things.
Besides, I hardly relished facing Mother Leary. There was the chance too
that you no longer needed rescuing. I'm not trying to excuse my breach
of faith: I am merely telling you how it came about. You realize that, I
trust?"

Did I? I don't know. I expect I was just sittin' there gazing stary at
him. Only one thing was shapin' itself clear in my head, and fin'lly I
states it flat.

"Say," says I, "you--you ain't my reg'lar uncle, are you?"

Maybe I wa'n't as enthusiastic as the case called for. He springs that
smile of his. "Hardly a flattering way to put it," says he. "Would you
be disappointed if I was?"

"Well," says I, eyin' him up and down, "you don't strike me as such a
swell uncle, you know."

Don't faze him a bit, either. "Our near relatives are seldom quite
satisfactory," says he. "Of course, though, if I fail to suit----" He
hunches his shoulders and reaches for his hat.

So he had it on me, you see. Suppose you was as sh