“Very well.”

“Should you know him again, were you to see him?”

’I think I should.”

“Do you know you should?  I don’t want any thinking about it.  Could you swear to him?”

“Yes.  I don’t think it would trouble me to swear to him.”

“If I were to show you some of his handwriting, do you suppose that would help you any?”

“It—­might.”

“I don’t want any ‘mights.’  Do you know it would?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to sell yourself—­body, soul, brains, legal knowledge, everything—­for money?”

“I’ve sold myself already at a smaller price, and I don’t mind withdrawing from the contract for a better.”

Mr. Belcher summoned a servant, and ordered something to eat for his visitor.  While the man eagerly devoured his food, and washed it down with a cup of tea, Mr. Belcher went to his room, and wrote an order on his tailor for a suit of clothes, and a complete respectable outfit for the legal “dead beat” who was feasting himself below.  When he descended, he handed him the paper, and gave him money for a bath and a night’s lodging.

“To-morrow morning I want you to come here clean, and dressed in the clothes that this paper will give you.  If you drink one drop before that time I will strip the clothes from your back.  Come to this room and get a decent breakfast.  Remember that you can’t fool me, and that I’ll have none of your nonsense.  If you are to serve me, and get any money out of it, you must keep sober.”

“I can keep sober—­for a while—­any way,” said the man, hesitatingly and half despairingly.

“Very well, now be off; and mind, if I ever hear a word of this, or any of our dealings outside, I’ll thrash you as I would a dog.  If you are true to me I can be of use to you.  If you are not, I will kick you into the street.”

The man tottered to his feet, and said:  “I am ashamed to say that you may command me.  I should have scorned it once, but my chance is gone, and I could be loyal to the devil himself—­for a consideration.”

The next morning Mr. Belcher was informed that Yates had breakfasted, and was awaiting orders.  He descended to the basement, and stood confronted with a respectable-looking gentleman, who greeted him in a courtly way, yet with a deprecating look in his eyes, which said, as plainly as words could express; “don’t humiliate me any more than you can help!  Use me, but spare the little pride I have, if you can.”

The deprecatory look was lost upon Mr. Belcher.  “Where did you get your clothes?” he inquired.  “Come, now; give me the name of your tailor.  I’m green in the city, you see.”

The man tried to smile, but the effort was a failure.

“What did you take for a night-cap last night, eh?”

“I give you my word of honor, sir, that I have not taken a drop since I saw you.”

“Word of honor! ha! ha! ha!  Do you suppose I want your word of honor?  Do you suppose I want a man of honor, anyway?  If you have come here to talk about honor, you are no man for me.  That’s a sort of nonsense that I have no use for.”