"So? I had business with him, but I suppose I can transact it with Mullins just as well."

"You will find him in the office."

"All right! I'll go there."

Chester turned his glance upon d.i.c.k Ralston and rapidly took note of his appearance. He was rather a stocky man, with a red, pimpled face, a broad nose, small, twinkling eyes and intensely black hair. He wore a "loud," striped sack suit, and on one of his pudgy fingers was a diamond ring. It was really a diamond, and he had often found it serviceable. When he was in very bad luck he p.a.w.ned it for a comfortable sum, but invariably redeemed it when fortune smiled upon him again.

He followed Chester into the broker's office. Mullins sat on a stool at the desk, picking his teeth. He looked like a man of leisure, with little upon his mind.

"h.e.l.lo, Mullins, old boy!" said d.i.c.k, pushing forward with extended hand. "So you're promoted to boss?"

"Yes," answered the bookkeeper, showing his teeth in a complacent smile. "Can I sell you a house this morning?"

"Well, not exactly. I'm not quite up to that in the present state of my funds. If you have on your list a one-story shanty on the rocks near Central Park I may invest."

"Cash down, or do you want to have part of the purchase money on mortgage?"

Then both laughed, and Ralston made a playful dig at Mullins' ribs.

Chester could not help hearing the conversation. He saw in it a proof of the friendly relations between the two. This, so far as he knew, was the first visit made by Ralston to Mr. Mullins. It was clear that the bookkeeper felt that such a caller would injure him in the eyes of Mr.

Fairchild.

"I am glad old Fairchild is gone," said d.i.c.k Ralston, lowering his tone. "Now I can come in freely."

"Don't come in too often," replied Mullins, with a cautioning look at Chester. "It might----"

Chester lost the rest of the sentence.

"Send him out!" suggested d.i.c.k, in a still lower tone, but Chester caught the words.

"Chester," said the bookkeeper, "you may go up to the Fifth Avenue Hotel and ask at the office if Mr. Paul Perkins, of Minneapolis, has arrived?"

"Yes, sir."

After Chester went out, Ralston inquired, "Is there a man named Paul Perkins?"

"Not that I know of," answered Mullins, with a laugh.

"I see. You're a sharp fellow. You only wanted to get rid of the kid."

"Exactly. Now we can talk freely."

"That's what I came about. Do you know, Mullins, you are owing me seven hundred and fifty dollars?"

"Is it so much as that?" asked the bookkeeper, anxiously.

"Yes; I can show you the account. Now, to tell you the truth, Mullins, I'm in a tight fix, and my bank account needs replenishing."

"So does mine," returned Mullins, with a sickly smile.

d.i.c.k Ralston frowned slightly.

"No joking, please!" he said, roughly. "I'm in earnest."

"I don't see what I am going to do about it," muttered Mullins, defiantly.

"Don't you. Then perhaps I can help you by a suggestion."

"I wish you would."

"You are left in charge here during Mr. Fairchild's absence?"

"Well, suppose I am."

"And you handle the funds?"

"Yes."

"Then," and d.i.c.k Ralston bent over and whispered something in the bookkeeper's ear.

Mullins started, and looked agitated.

"What would you have me do?" he inquired.

"Borrow a little money from the office," answered d.i.c.k, coolly.

"But, good heavens, man, it would ruin me. Must you have me risk prison?"

"Don't be alarmed! I only want you to borrow two or three hundred dollars. You can return it before Fairchild gets back."

"How am I to return it?"

"You can win it back in one evening at the gaming table."

"Or lose more."

There was considerable further conversation, d.i.c.k Ralston urging, and Mullins feebly opposing something which the gambler proposed. Then a customer came in, who had to receive attention. Inside of an hour Chester re-entered the office, accompanied by a sandy-complexioned stranger, his head covered with a broad, flapping, Western sombrero, and wearing a long, brown beard descending at least eighteen inches.

"I hear you want to see me," he said to Mullins.

"Who are you?" asked the astonished bookkeeper.

"I am Paul Perkins, of Minneapolis," was the surprising reply.

CHAPTER XX.