In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. " He laughed and pushed back his chair. He addressed the boy as Jay. " "Well, I've a job open; but I don't want you to get the wrong idea of it. “What are you doing here? How dare you come to my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room. "What are you doing with him?" "It's a long story, Captain, and I've no breath to tell it,—unless you choose to release me," rejoined Quilt. Now I’d like the rest of your story.
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