If you've got any money to spare you'd better give it to him." "What is your name ?" "Atkins--just Cap'n Atkins." "Where do you get your mail ?" "Well, I don't get any to speak of.

A letter sent in care of the wharfmaster will reach me all right." DeGolyer got into a hack and was rapidly driven to the restaurant.
Young Witherspoon had completed his work and was in the kitchen, sitting on a box with a dirty-looking bundle lying beside him.
"Come, Henry," DeGolyer said, taking his arm.
"No; not Henry--Hank.

Henry's dead." "Come, my boy." Witherspoon looked up, and closing his eyes, pressed the tips of his fingers against them.
"My boy." "He got up and turned to go with DeGolyer, who held his arm, but perceiving that he had left his bundle, pulled back and made an effort to reach it.
"No, we don't want that," said DeGolyer.
"Yes, clothes." "No, we'll get better clothes.

Come on." DeGolyer took him to a Turkish bath, to a barbershop, and then to a clothing store.

It was now evening and nearly time to take the train for Chicago.