"Ah, there, Dodger!" Dodger, who had been busily and successfully selling evening papers in front of the Astor House, turned quickly as he heard his name called. His glance rested on two men, dressed in soiled white hats and shabby suits, who were apparently holding each other up, having both been imbibing. He at once recognized Hooker and Briggs, for he had waited upon them too many times in Tim's saloon not to recognize them. "Well," he said, cautiously, "what do you want?" "Tim has sent us for you!" answered the two, in unison. "What does he want of me?" "He wants you to come home. He says he can't get along without you." "He will have to get along without me," said the boy, independently. "Tell him I'm not goin' back!" "You're wrong, Dodger," said Hooker, shaking his head, solemnly. "Ain't he your father?" "No, he ain't." "He says he is," continued Hooker, looking puzzled. "That don't make it so." "He ought to know," put in Briggs. "Yes; he ought to know!" chimed in Hooker. "No doubt he does, but he can't make me believe he's any relation of mine." "Just go and argy the point with him," said Hooker, coaxingly. "It wouldn't do no good." "Maybe it would. Just go back with us, that's a good boy." "What makes you so anxious about it?" asked Dodger, suspiciously. "Well," said Hooker, coughing, "we're Tim's friends, don't you know." "What's he goin' to give you if I go back with you?" asked the boy,