"Never mind, just go up," replied Doc.
On a comfortable bed, in an upper chamber, lay Tom Clover. Good care and nursing had done wonders for the man, and when Richard looked at him he could hardly realize that this was the miserable wretch he had visited in the garret at Frying Pan Court.
"Here's Mr. Dare come to see you," said Doc Linyard, by way of an introduction.
Tom Clover grasped Richard's hand tightly.
"Betty and Doc have told me all about you," he said in a somewhat feeble voice. "I thank you more than I can put in words. Sit down; I want to talk to you."
"I would like to, Mr. Clover, but I've got to catch a train for home in three quarters of an hour," replied Richard. "I'll call as soon as I get back."
"Just stay a little while," urged Doc Linyard. "Tom's got something to say to you."
"Doc tells me your father was a soldier in the late war?" went on Tom
Clover.
"Yes, sir."
"Did he once live in Brooklyn?"