The door was opened, and Fogson, rushing in, grasped the arm of a boy sitting in a rocking-chair.
"I've got you, you young rascal!" he exclaimed.
"What do you mean, you lunatic?" demanded the boy in a clear voice, higher pitched than was Jed's.
Then for the first time Fogson, who was shortsighted, found out that the boy was not Jed, but a youth of lighter complexion and slighter physique.
He fell back in confusion.
"I was told you were Ralph Clinton," he explained, looking rather foolish.
"I am Ralph Clinton."
"But I want Jed Gilman."
"Then why don't you look for Jed Gilman? What have I got to do with him?"