"I'm sorry to see you down, Kit. Can I do anything to help you?" he asked.

Kit opened his eyes with a start of recognition, and reaching out, gripped Ordway's wrist with his burning hand, while he threw off the ragged patchwork quilt upon the bed.

"I've something on my mind, and I want to get it off," he answered. "When it's once off I'll be better and get back my wits."

"Then get it off. I'm waiting."

"Do you remember the night in the bar-room?" demanded the boy in a whisper, "the time you came in through the window and took me home?"

"Go on," said Ordway.

"Well, I'd walked up the street behind you that afternoon when you left Baxter's, and I got drunk that night on a dollar I stole from you."

"But I didn't speak to you. I didn't even see you."

"Of course you didn't. If you had I couldn't have stolen it, but Baxter had just paid you and when you put your hand into your pocket to get out something, a dollar bill dropped on the walk."

"Go on."