“Your father, at his death, held a note of Davenport’s for a thousand dollars—­money which he had placed in his hands—­a note bearing six per cent. interest.”

Ben was more and more surprised; at first he was elated, then depressed.

“It will do me no good,” he said, “nothing was found at father’s death, and the note is no doubt destroyed.”

“So Squire Davenport thinks,” said his companion quietly.

“But isn’t it true?”

“No; that note not only is in existence, but I knew where to lay my hands on it.”

“Then it will more than offset the mortgage?” said Ben joyfully.

“I should say.  No interest has been paid on the note for more than five years.  The amount due must be quite double the amount of the mortgage.”

“How can I thank you for this information?” said Ben.  “We shall not be forced to give up our little cottage, after all.  But how could Squire Davenport so wickedly try to cheat us of our little property?”

“My dear boy,” said the tramp, shrugging his shoulders, “your question savors of verdancy.  Learn that there is no meanness too great to be inspired by the love of money.”

“But Squire Davenport was already rich.”

“And for that reason he desired to become richer.”

“When shall we go to see the squire and tell him about the note?”

“I prefer that you should wait till the day the mortgage comes due.  When is that?”

“On the twentieth of December.”

“Then on the nineteenth of December we will both go to Pentonville and wait till the squire shows his hand.”

“You seem to be—­excuse me—­in better circumstances than when we last met.”

“I am.  An old uncle of mine died last month, and considerately left me ten thousand dollars.  Perhaps if he had known more about my way of life he would have found another heir.  It has led me to turn over a new leaf, and henceforth I am respectable, as befits a man of property.  I even keep a card case.”

He drew out a card case and handed a card to Ben.  It bore the name of Harvey Dinsmore.

“Mr. Dinsmore,” said our young hero, I rejoice at your good fortune.”

“Thank you.  Shall we be friends?”

“With pleasure.”

“Then I have more good news for you.  Your father owned twenty-five shares in a Western railway.  These shares are selling at par, and a year’s dividends are due.”

“Why, we shall be rich,” said Ben, fairly dazzled by this second stroke of good fortune.

“I hope so; though this is only a beginning.”

“How can we prove that the railway shares belong to us?”

“Leave that to me.  On the nineteenth of December you will meet me in Pentonville.  Till then we probably shall not meet.”

At this moment Mr. Taylor made his appearance, returning from the smoking-car, and Harvey Dinsmore left them.