Jim lifted his eyebrows as he skillfully flipped the ashes from his cigar. "Oh, I see; you did not rob the old gentleman's safe that night. I saved you from committing murder. You only negotiated a trifling loan with your loving parent. You'll be telling me next that you didn't gamble, but only whiled away a leisure hour or two in a social game of cards. But, joking aside, I honestly believe, Frank Goodrich, that you are more kinds of a fool than any man I have ever had the pleasure to know. The case in a nutshell is this: I must have those papers. I can't go after them myself. You've got to get them for me."
"I won't," said Frank, sullenly. "I can't."
"You can, and you will," retorted the other, firmly; "or I'll turn those notes over to my lawyer for collection, inside of twenty-four hours, and the little story of your life will be told to all the world. My young Christian friend, you can't afford to tell me that you won't."
For another hour they sat before the fire, talking and planning, and then Frank drove alone, through the mud and rain, back to the city, reaching his home just before day.
A few nights later, as Dick sat at his work in Mr. Wicks' office, a rubber-tired buggy drove slowly past close to the curbing. Through the big front window, Dick could be seen plainly as he bent over his desk, just inside an inner room, his back toward the door, which stood open. A burly negro leaped to the sidewalk without stopping the carriage. So absorbed was Dick with the task before him, that he did not hear the outer door of the office open and close again; and so quickly did the negro move that he stood within the room where Dick sat before the latter was aware of his presence.
When Dick did raise his head, he looked straight into the muzzle of a big revolver.
"Don't move er ye'r a goner," growled the black giant; and reaching out with his free hand he swung to the door between the rooms, thus cutting off the view from the street.
Dick smiled pleasantly as though his visitor had called in the ordinary way. "What can I do for you?" he asked, politely.
"Yo jest move 'way from dat 'ar desk fust; den we kin talk. I don' 'spect you's got a gun handy, an' we don' want no foolin'."
Dick laughed aloud as though the other had made a good joke. "All right, boss; just as you say." And leaving his chair he seated himself on the edge of a table in the center of the room. But the negro did not notice that he had placed himself so that a heavy glass paper-weight was just hidden by his right leg.