In his trouble
he turned to the beverage of his native continent.
'Bring a bottle of Canadian whisky,' I said to the servant, who
disappeared, and shortly returned with what I had ordered. I locked
the door after him, and put the key in my pocket.
'What am I to call you?' I asked the ex-convict.
With a forced laugh he said; 'You can call me Jack for short.'
'Very well, Jack, help yourself,' and he poured out a very liberal
glass of the Dominion liquor, refusing to dilute it with soda.
Sanderson took Scotch, and I helped myself to a _petit verre_ of
brandy.
'Now, Jack,' I began, 'I may tell you plainly that if I wished to send
you back to prison, I could not do so without incriminating myself.
You are legally dead, and you have now a chance to begin life anew, an
opportunity of which I hope you will take advantage. If you were to
apply three weeks from today at the prison doors, they would not dare
admit you. You are dead. Does that console you?'
'Well, squire, you can bet your bottom dollar I never thought I'd be
pleased to hear I was dead, but I'm glad if it's all fixed as you say,
and you can bet your last pair of boots I'm going to keep out of the
jug in future if I can.'
'That's right.
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