“I don’t see how I can help you,” said Gibbon.

“How much salary does Mr. Jennings pay you?”

“A hundred dollars a month,” answered the bookkeeper, reluctantly.

“Not bad, in a cheap place like this.”

“It takes all I make to pay expenses.”

“I remember—­you have a wife.  I have no such incumbrance.”

“There is one question I would like to ask you,” said the bookkeeper.

“Fire away, dear boy.  Have you an extra cigar?”

“Here is one.”

“Thanks.  Now I shall be comfortable.  Go ahead with your question.”

“What brought you to Milford?  You didn’t know of my being here, you say.”

“Neither did I. I came on my old business.”

“What?”

“I heard there was a rich manufacturer here—­I allude to your respected employer.  I thought I might manage to open his safe some dark night.”

“No, no,” protested Gibbon in alarm.  “Don’t think of it.”

“Why not?” asked Stark, coolly.

“Because,” answered Gibbon, in some agitation, “I might be suspected.”

“Well, perhaps you might; but I have got to look out for number one.  How do you expect me to live?”

“Go somewhere else.  There are plenty of other men as rich, and richer, where you would not be compromising an old friend.”

“It’s because I have an old friend in the office that I have thought this would be my best opening.”

“Surely, man, you don’t expect me to betray my employer, and join with you in robbing him?”

“That’s just what I do expect.  Don’t tell me you have grown virtuous, Gibbon.  The tiger doesn’t lose his spots or the leopard his stripes.  I tell you there’s a fine chance for us both.  I’ll divide with you, if you’ll help me.”

“But I’ve gone out of the business,” protested Gibbon.

“I haven’t.  Come, old boy, I can’t let any sentimental scruples interfere with so good a stroke of business.”

“I won’t help you!” said Gibbon, angrily.  “You only want to get me into trouble.”

“You won’t help me?” said Stark, with slow deliberation.

“No, I can’t honorably.  Can’t you let me alone?”

“Sorry to say, I can’t.  If I was rich, I might; but as it is, it is quite necessary for me to raise some money somewhere.  By all accounts, Jennings is rich, and can spare a small part of his accumulations for a good fellow that’s out of luck.”

“You’d better give up the idea.  It’s quite impossible.”

“Is it?” asked Stark, with a wicked look.  “Then do you know what I will do?”

“What will you do?” asked Gibbon, nervously.

“I will call on your employer, and tell him what I know of you.”

“You wouldn’t do that?” said the bookkeeper, much agitated.

“Why not?  You turn your back upon an old friend.  You bask in prosperity, and turn from him in his poverty.  It’s the way of the world, no doubt; but Phil Stark generally gets even with those who don’t treat him well.”