All he recollected, when he recovered consciousness, was, that he had fallen into a miserably dark and loathsome place, and not knowing how or which way to move.
“Oh, lord!” he sighed. “Here’s a fix to be in. I’d give a thousand gold pieces if I were only out of it.”
“Would you?” said a distant voice. “Ha! ha! but, then, you see, you ain’t going to get out of it, my lad.”
“Who are you?” said Tim, trying to pluck up all the courage he possibly could. “Don’t you know I’ve got a dagger left?”
“Yes, I dare say you have,” the voice replied. “But, if you had a dozen daggers, or a whole arsenal at your back, they would do you no good here.”
At the same moment Tim felt a heavy hand laid upon his shoulder, and his limbs began to tremble.
“What’s your name, you shivering hound?” said the gruff voice, with a chuckle.
“Tim, sir, if you please.”
“Tim what?”
“Tim Anything—Tim Nothing. I never had but one name; ’tis only rich folks as can afford to have two.”