CASPER NEVINS, THE SPY.
"No, sir," said Casper, leaning over and placing his elbows on his knees, his eyes gazing thoughtfully at the floor; "you don't get any more five cents out of me, yet awhile, to pay for cigars. I have got only ten dollars, and I am anxious to make that do. Now, what shall I go at next?"
Casper Nevins was in a predicament the first thing he knew. He claimed to be an orphan, the same as Julian was; but those who were well acquainted with his history knew that he had a mother in a Western village who was a dressmaker, and who would have been glad to get every cent he could send her. But Casper never sent her any money. On the contrary, he often appealed to her to forward him a few dimes, to pay his debts for pool and cigars. Claus often got into him a dollar or two on the games he lost, and his mother was the only person he had to call on. Now he had lost his position, and the next thing was to find something else to do. He was really afraid he would have to go to work with his hands. He thought of Jack Sheldon, dirty and begrimed as he was when he came from the shop, and wondered how he would look in that fix. And, another thing, he wasn't satisfied that he could get as good a position as Jack held. Aside from being acquainted with the city and carrying the telegraphic dispatches, there was nothing else that he could do.
"I tell you I am up a stump," said Casper to himself; "I shall soon be sweeping out saloons, as Julian did, to pay for my breakfast. I would rather die than do that."
When he had reached this point in his meditations the door opened, and Claus came in with a couple of cigars in his hand. He did not seem to be at all worried over his failure to get his hands upon that box, but he was whistling a jig as he closed the door and offered a cigar to Casper.
"What is the matter with you, any way?" he asked, when he saw the gloomy look on Casper's face. "You act as though you had lost your last friend."
"What am I going to do now?" asked Casper. "I have no trade, no profession, and I must do something to keep myself in grub. There is no pool or cigars for me from this time on."
"Well, let that thing go until I tell you my story," said Claus, who did not like to hear a man talk in this way. He knew that he was to blame for Casper's shortness of funds—a good deal of his hard earnings was located in Claus's own pockets—and he wanted to make him look on the bright side of things while he was in his presence. When he got away where he could not see him, then he could indulge in moody thoughts as often as he pleased.
"I wish I had not played pool with you as often as I have," said Casper, showing a little spirit. "Every time I have crossed cues with you I have always been out three or four dollars. Why don't you play with somebody else?"
"Well, if you are going to talk that way I'll go on," said Claus, getting up from his chair. "What I was going to say was that I don't believe that box is gone yet. I have tried twice to get it and have failed; but there is a charm in everything. Three times and out is what I go by; but if you don't want to hear what I have to say, why, good-night."