Then he seized the disguised boy by the shoulder and peered into his face.
He saw he was indeed the storekeeper’s son.
CHAPTER XVII.
WHAT FINALLY COMES TO THE BOY WHO SUCCEEDED.
“Great Scott! Luke Maslin! What does this mean? You an associate of Tenderloin thugs! Is it possible you have got so low as this?” cried Dick, in indignant amazement.
“Save me!” almost shrieked Silas Maslin’s son, in abject terror. “They made me what I am,” and he pointed to the reviving rascals, who were no other than the man Mudgett and the Walkhill terror, Tim Bunker. “They won’t let me go home! They make me do as they want! Oh, take me away from them!”
“You know this boy?” asked the gentleman who said his name was Armstrong, grabbing Dick by the arm in a state of almost uncontrollable agitation.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did he not say his name was Maslin?”
“Yes, sir; that is his name. He is the son of the man with whom I lived almost all my life—Silas Maslin, of Cobham’s Corner.”