“I will, sir.”

“Hannah,” said Mr. Jennings, as his messenger left with the note, “Carl is a pleasant addition to our little household?”

“Yes, indeed he is,” responded Hannah, emphatically.

“If he was twice the trouble I’d be glad to have him here.”

“He is easy to get along with.”

“Surely.”

“Yet his stepmother drove him from his father’s house.”

“She’s a wicked trollop, then!” said Hannah, in a deep, stern voice.  “I’d like to get hold of her, I would.”

“What would you do to her?” asked Mr. Jennings, smiling.

“I’d give her a good shaking,” answered Hannah.

“I believe you would, Hannah,” said Mr. Jennings, amused.  “On the whole, I think she had better keep out of your clutches.  Still, but for her we would never have met with Carl.  What is his father’s loss is our gain.”

“What a poor, weak man his father must be,” said Hannah, contemptuously, “to let a woman like her turn him against his own flesh and blood!”

“I agree with you, Hannah.  I hope some time he may see his mistake.”

Carl kept on his way to the hotel.  It was summer and Mr. Thorndike was sitting on the piazza smoking a cigar.  To him Carl delivered the note.

“It’s all right!” he said, rapidly glancing it over.  “You may tell Mr. Jennings,” and here he gave an answer to the question asked in the letter.

“Yes, sir, I will remember.”

“Won’t you sit down and keep me company a little while?” asked Thorndike, who was sociably inclined.

“Thank you, sir,” and Carl sat down in a chair beside him.

“Will you have a cigar?”

“No, thank you, sir.  I don’t smoke.”

“That is where you are sensible.  I began to smoke at fourteen, and now I find it hard to break off.  My doctor tells me it is hurting me, but the chains of habit are strong.”

“All the more reason for forming good habits, sir.”

“Spoken like a philosopher.  Are you in the employ of my friend, Mr. Jennings?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Learning the business?”

“That is my present intention.”

“If you ever come out to Chicago, call on me, and if you are out of a place, I will give you one.”

“Are you not a little rash, Mr. Thorndike, to offer me a place when you know so little of me?”

“I trust a good deal to looks.  I care more for them than for recommendations.”

At that moment Phil Stark came out of the hotel, and passing them, stepped off the piazza into the street.

Mr. Thorndike half rose from his seat, and looked after him.

“Who is that?” he asked, in an exciting whisper.

“A man named Stark, who is boarding at the hotel.  Do you know him?”

“Do I know him?” repeated Thorndike.  “He is one of the most successful burglars in the West.”

CHAPTER XXIII.