My young Christian friend, you can't afford to tell _me_ that you
won't."
For another hour they sat before the fire, talking and planning, and
then Frank drove alone, through the mud and rain, back to the city,
reaching his home just before day.
A few nights later, as Dick sat at his work in Mr. Wicks' office, a
rubber-tired buggy drove slowly past close to the curbing. Through the
big front window, Dick could be seen plainly as he bent over his desk,
just inside an inner room, his back toward the door, which stood open.
A burly negro leaped to the sidewalk without stopping the carriage.
So absorbed was Dick with the task before him, that he did not hear
the outer door of the office open and close again; and so quickly did
the negro move that he stood within the room where Dick sat before the
latter was aware of his presence.
When Dick did raise his head, he looked straight into the muzzle of
a big revolver.
"Don't move er ye'r a goner," growled the black giant; and reaching
out with his free hand he swung to the door between the rooms, thus
cutting off the view from the street.
Dick smiled pleasantly as though his visitor had called in the ordinary
way. "What can I do for you?" he asked, politely.
"Yo jest move 'way from dat 'ar desk fust; den we kin talk. I don'
'spect you's got a gun handy, an' we don' want no foolin'."
Dick laughed aloud as though the other had made a good joke. "All
right, boss; just as you say." And leaving his chair he seated himself
on the edge of a table in the center of the room.
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