“Well, may be you are and then again you may not be,” was the Sandy Bay youngster’s cautious reply; “but how does it interest you?”
“Because I haven’t any more use for him than you have, and if you make it worth my while I’ll give you a bit of information that will be of value to you.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Fanning, beginning to listen with more attention than he had hitherto shown.
“Just this, that I’m Jukes Dade, who used to work for Mr. Prescott years ago, but he discharged me for—for—well for a little fault of drinking I had. Come now, don’t you recognize me?”
“By George, I do,” exclaimed Fanning; “but it was so many years ago you were with Mr. Prescott that I hardly knew you. You have changed greatly.”
“I may have,” was the reply in bitter tones. “I’ve been through enough. But there’s one thing I ain’t never forgotten in all these years, and that is my resolve to get even on old man Prescott.”
“But he is dead,” put in Fanning, wondering at the baleful expression of hatred that had come into the man’s face.
“All true enough. I heard that some time ago. But if I can injure the son in any way, I’d like to do it. I’ve got a wrong to avenge, and if you want to pay well to have Roy Prescott put out of the race to-morrow I’m your man.”
“Hush, don’t talk so loud. Some folks over there are looking at us.”
“Oh, well, if you’re afraid to––”