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" "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. ‘You are mad, if you think he will give you a sou. ’ ‘Miss?’ gaped the soldier. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the street to the police-station. "Take him to the bilbowes. “I never dreamt!” she said. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge.
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