He knew perfectly well that our hero had been in trouble, and had done his four years but that was no reason for his discontinuing his acquaintance with Peace, who he hoped and believed was at this time a reformed character.
“Upon my word, Peace,” said Mr. Hilton, the detective alluded to, “you ought to do well; for—I don’t say it out of flattery—you are clever in many ways.”
“It isn’t the most clever persons who get on in this world,” remarked Peace. “I am afraid, if we examined closely, that the contrary is the case. No one ought to know this better than yourself.”
“A man can’t do much nowadays without capital,” remarked the publican. “He may strive and work his fingers to the bone, but unless he has the fore horse by the head it aint of much use.”
“There’s a great deal of truth in that,” returned Hilton; “but we come into the world without anything, and when we go out of it we can’t take anything with us, so I suppose it’s pretty much the same in the long run.”
“Our friend here has seen something of life, mind you that,” said Peace. “He’s been a celebrated man in his day. You wouldn’t believe it, to look at him, that he has been a detective; but you see,” he added, with a smile, “we are all honest people here, and so it does not much matter.”
“All honest till you are found out, old man,” cried Hilton.
The company burst out in a roar at this last observation.
“We must be a little cautious,” remarked one of the company.
“Ah! don’t mind me; I’ve given up the business long since,” said Hilton.