than half warmed. "Do you know who lives here?" he continued.
"Your relative, Philip Chesterfield," answered Roger.
"Humph! He's a great-uncle of mine and very old. He is down with gout. Come into the library. We needn't disturb him."
They filed into the apartment mentioned, a long, low room, the walls of which were lined with shelves filled with musty volumes. Dave kept his eyes on Jasniff, and this the runaway noticed.
"Think I'm going to skip?" he queried, sourly.
"I'll not give you the chance," was the ready answer.
"You think you've got me foul, don't you?"
"Doesn't it look like it?"
"You can't make me go back to the United States."
"Perhaps I can."
"My folks have settled up that Pud Frodel affair for me—did it only a few days ago."
"But they didn't settle up with Mrs. Clever. She was swindled out of some board money."
"I—er—I was going to send her that money today."
"Then you had better pay me, for I settled the account," answered Dave. "But let us drop this talk for the present, Jasniff. I want you to tell me all you know about my father and my sister."
