“Yes; you are Mr. Cunningham.”
“Do you think,” asked Puffer, “that you could spare me half a dollar now? I feel quite hungry, and I should like to make a good meal.”
“Certainly. Here are five dollars. Now, be sure to call at the Brevoort House to-morrow morning.”
“Most certainly I will,” said the professor, eying the bank note he had just received with a joyful glance. “I should be a fool if I didn’t. Through you and Bernard, I hope to have another chance of living respectably. Now I must go and surrender this badge of my servitude,” and he glanced disdainfully at the two placards which he had already removed from their position behind and in front. “I hope, Bernard, you will never be subjected to such humiliation.”
“I hardly think it likely,” said Walter Cunningham, “especially if through you he obtains possession of his father’s money.”
“I will do my best, sir. I think, Cornelius McCracken,” he continued, snapping his fingers at an imaginary form, “that we shall be too much for you at last. You will be sorry that you did not treat me better.”
Professor Puffer disappeared rapidly round the corner of Houston Street, and Bernard and Walter Cunningham walked up town to their hotel.
“Things seem to be turning in your favor, Bernard,” said his companion. “The money left by your father will not be of so much consequence to you now, but it will be a satisfaction to wrest it from the hands of your faithless guardian. Professor Puffer will prove to be a good friend to you after all.”