"You ought to turn over a new leaf," I said.
"Don't preach, Roger."
"I'm not preaching. I'm only telling you something for your own good."
"I know it. I don't blame you. I've been doing wrong—sowing my wild oats. But they're all gone now. Just let me get straightened out and I'll be a different fellow, see if I'm not."
"I hope so with all my heart. What brought you to New York?"
He started.
"I—I came—I don't care to tell," he stammered.
"Were you going to Brooklyn?" I questioned, struck by a sudden idea.
"Why, how did you know?" he exclaimed.
"You have certain papers," I continued.