“Did you expect to see the same disreputable-looking tramp who appeared to you on that eventful evening?”
“Well, not exactly, sir, for your sending me the ten-dollar bill—for which I thank you—showed that you must have improved in your circumstances.”
“But you were not prepared for quite so great a change?” said Darius Darke, as he drew out a handsome gold watch and noted the time.
“No, sir; but then, of course, I knew very little about you.”
“You thought I was burned with the old barn, eh?”
“How did John Simpson account to his neighbors for the fire?”
“He said he had let you sleep in the barn, and neglected to caution you about smoking. He thought you had set the building on fire in that way.”
Darius Darke laughed grimly.
“John Simpson is a crafty man,” he said, “but he overreached himself this time, or perhaps I should say that I overreached him. My young friend, I may say to you that I have not smoked for years—certainly, I did not smoke on that eventful night.”