"I guess you won't do that, Tom Butler!" returned the burglar, coolly.
Browning stared in surprise and dismay at hearing his old name pronounced by this unsavory specimen of humanity.
"Who are you?" he demanded, quickly.
"Don't you know me?"
"No, I don't. I never saw you before. I don't associate with men of your class."
"Hear him now!" chuckled the tramp, in an amazed tone. "Why, Tom Butler, you an' me used to be pards. Don't you remember Jack King? Why, we've bunked together, and hunted for gold together, and almost starved together; but that was in the old days."
Browning looked the amazement he felt.
"Are you really Jack King?" he ejaculated, sinking back into an easy-chair, and staring hard at his unexpected visitor.
"I'm the same old coon, Tom, but I'm down at the heel, while you—do you really own this fine house, and these elegant fixin's?"
"Yes," answered Browning, mechanically.