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me out to argue with a guard. I didn't know nobody followed me."

"How did you leave the strike, Tim?" asked Abner of his old enemy.

"Oh, it busted up when Perry lost his suit. Mr. Ditmas is gittin' ever'thing straightened out agin'. She'll go through with a bang now."

Adelaide pressed Abner's arm at this successful working of her father's complex plans. The trio walked on through the corridor to the trustee's cell. When they paused before the cage, they could faintly discern the prisoner who was standing beside his foul bunk.

"Jim," began Abner in a somewhat strained voice, "I never could git no understandin' betwixt you an' Mr. Jones, so I brung him to talk for hisse'f."

At this all minor noises from the other prisoners came to silence. The little group, illuminated by the oil lamp, stood beside the trustee's cell, the fat man peering through the bars with a frown puckering rolls between his brows. He cleared his throat.

"I b'lieve you wanted to see me, Jim?"

"Mr. Jones," said the shadow in the cage. "I want you to pay that money an' let me out of here."

The railroad builder smoothed his jowl.

"How much is it, Jim?"

"How much! You know how much better'n I do!" said the shadow bitterly.

"Yes, I wanted to call it to yore mind—not mine."

"Well—thirty thousan' then!"

"Thirty-two eight sixty-four," corrected the magnate. "How much do you git a year fer bein' trustee, Jim?"

"Eight hunderd, but I don't see as that's got anything to do with it."

"I didn't s'pose you would, Jim," said the magnate simply. "Eight hundered a year. It would take you a little over thirty-eight years, Jim, to save thirty-two thousan' dollars at that rate, with no fambly expense whatever; but of course