“Who is it that says he is your father?” he demanded, abruptly.
“Do you want to get him into trouble?”
“No, I don’t want to get him into trouble, or you either. Better tell me all, and I will be your friend.”
“You’re a better sort than I thought at first,” said Dodger. “The man I live with is called Tim Bolton.”
“I though so,” quickly ejaculated Curtis. He had scarcely got out the words before he was sensible that he had made a mistake.
“What! do you know Tim?” inquired Dodger, in surprise.
“I mean,” replied Curtis, lamely, “that I have heard of this man Bolton. He keeps a saloon on the Bowery, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you would be living with some such man. Did he come to the house with you tonight?”
“Yes.”