Suspicious eyes looked at Joe as he entered the place with his young guide.

“He’s come to see de sick guy,” Micky explained to the bartender.

“Well, I hope he’s come to pay what’s owin’,” was the surly comment.

“I’ll settle any bills that Mr. Logan may owe for board or lodging,” said Joe.

“Board!  He don’t owe much for board!” sneered the barkeeper.  “He hasn’t eaten enough to keep a fly alive.  But he does owe for his room.”

“I’ll pay that,” offered Joe.  Then he was guided upstairs to a squalid room.

“Come in!” called a weak voice, and Joe, pushing back the door, saw, lying on a tumbled bed, the form of the old fire-eater.  It was a great change Ham Logan was in even worse condition than when he had applied to Joe for work.  He was utterly disreputable.  But in spite of that there was something about his face and eyes that gave Joe hope.  The man was sober—­that was one thing.

As Joe looked at him, Ham turned his face away.

“I—­I’m ashamed to have you see me,” he murmured.  “I fought it off as long as I could, but I just had to see you.  ’Tisn’t for my own sake!” he added quickly.  “I know you’re through with me.  But it’s for your own—­and the good of the show.  I’ve got something to tell you, and, when I’ve done that, you can go away again and forget me.  That’s all I’m fit for—­to be forgotten!”

A dry sob shook his emaciated frame.

“Son, here’s a quarter,” said Joe to the red-haired Micky.  “You go out and get yourself an ice-cream soda and come back in half an hour.”

And after he had thus delicately removed a witness to the sad scene Joe closed the door, and, going over to the bed, held out both his hands to the man.

And then tears—­tears to which he had long been stranger—­coursed down the sunken cheeks of Hamilton Logan.

Just what Joe said to the man whom he had befriended and who had gone back to his old ways and what Ham Logan said to his young benefactor will never be known.  Neither would tell, and no one else knew.  As a matter of fact, it did not matter.  Afterward, though, following some sensational happenings which did become known, Joe told his closest friends enough of Ham’s story to make clear the trend of events.

Punctually on the time agreed, Micky Donlon was back at his post.  Joe was coming out of the room.

“Are you engaged for the rest of the day?” asked the young circus performer of his guide.

“Engaged?”

“I mean have you anything to do?”

“Not so’s you could notice!  Me mudder’s goin’ to dress up to see de show, but me—­I’m all ready!”

“Good!  Then you can help me.  I’ll pay you for your time.  Can we get an automobile in this part of the city?”

“Gee, no, mister!  Dere’s jitney buses about two blocks up, though.”

“Well, perhaps they’ll do for a time.  I’ve got a lot to do, and you can help me.”