'Hallo, Tracy! Just the feller I wanted to see. Let me introduce you to Mr. Bijah Jones, from Pennsylvany; used to drive hosses for me in the days I ain't ashamed of, by a long shot. He's bought him a place out from Philadelphy, and wants to lay it out à la—à la—dumbed if I know the word, but like them old chaps' gardens in Europe, and I told him of Tracy Park, which beats everything holler in this part of the country. Will you let us go over it and take a survey?'
'Certainly; go where you like,' Frank said, struggling to reach the door; but Peterkin button-holed him and held him fast, while he continued:
'I say, Tracy, heard anything from them diamonds?'
'Nothing,' was the reply.
'Didn't hunt in the right quarter,' Peterkin continued, 'leastwise didn't foller it up, or you'd a found 'em without so much advertisin'.'
'What do you mean?' Frank asked.
'Oh, nothin',' Peterkin replied; 'only them diamonds never went off without hands, and them hands ain't a thousand miles from the park.'
'Perhaps not,' Frank answered, mechanically, more intent upon getting away than upon what Peterkin was saying.
He longed to be in the open air, and as he mounted his horse, he said, as if speaking to some one near him:
'Well, old fellow, I've done it again, and sunk myself still lower. You are bound to get me now some day, unless I have a death-bed repentance and confess everything. The thief was forgiven at the last hour, why not I?'