Though he is a very unworthy specimen of humanity, the reader may
feel interested to know something more about James Barclay, whose
acquaintance we made while he was attempting to commit a burglary.
It was mere accident that made him acquainted with the fact that his
father was living in New York. To him it seemed a most fortunate
discovery. Knowing old Jerry’s miserly habits, he had no doubt that the
old man was worth some thousands of dollars, and upon this sum he felt
that he had a right to draw. His father was timid, and he depended upon
terrifying him into complying with his demands.
The first visit terminated as well as he expected. He didn’t suppose
that Jerry kept much money in his room. Hence his arrangement to come
back the next day.
As he left the poor tenement house he chuckled to himself, “I’ll scare
the old man into giving me all the money I want. It will be like
drawing a tooth, and I’ve no doubt he’ll make a great fuss, but there’s
no escape for him. He can live on little or nothing and enjoy it. It
won’t do him any real harm to let me have, say half of his miserly
hoard. Egad, James Barclay, you’re in luck at last. I thought when that
telegraph kid foiled me last night that nothing would go well with me,
but things seem turning. If I ever meet that boy again I must give him
a lesson. He’s a bold young rascal, though, and would be a credit to my
line of business.”
It is doubted whether Paul would have considered this a compliment if
he had heard it. His ambitions did not run in the direction of becoming
a successful burglar.
It was a question with James Barclay where to spend the intervening
time, as he was not to call on his father till the next day. He was
about at the end of his resources, having less than a dollar in silver
in his possession. He might have tried to hatch up some dishonest
scheme for filling his pockets but for the chance discovery of his
father. That afforded a chance quite as promising, and far less
perilous, and he decided not to make any illegal ventures till he had
made all he could out of old Jerry.
“I’d rather be honest,” he said to himself in a glow of virtuous
feeling; “but, confound it, a man must live, and as the world owes me a
living, I must get it one way or another.”
It did not seem to occur to James Barclay that the same chance existed
for him as for the majority of his fellow men--a chance of earning a
living by honest work. Labor and industry he abhorred. They might do
for others, but not for him.
“Tomorrow I’ll be in funds,” he said to himself complacently. “Now,
what shall I do with myself today? A man can’t do much without money.”
It occurred to him that an old acquaintance--rather a shady
acquaintance by the way--used to live in Jersey City. He would go over
and see him. It would while away the time in a pleasant manner, and he
might get news of his other companions, for he had been out of the city
himself for several years. In fact, for we need not keep the secret
from the reader, he had been passing three years in seclusion at the
village of Sing Sing on the Hudson. That accounted for his father
having been spared any visits for that length of time.
James Barclay turned down Cortlandt Street, and made his way to the
ferry at the foot of the street. He invested three cents in a ferry
ticket, and in a few minutes set foot in Jersey City.
“It’s a long time since I have been here,” he reflected. “Ten to one
Jack isn’t hanging out at the old place. However, I can see.”
He made his way to the former abode of his old friend, Jack Cratts, who
was much such a character as himself, but, being more prudent, less apt
to get into trouble.
He only met with disappointment. Another family occupied the room
once tenanted by Jack, and he could obtain no information as to the
whereabouts of his friend.
James Barclay was disappointed. The time was hanging heavily on his
hands. He made his way slowly toward the ferry, when he encountered
a poorly dressed woman of about thirty, carrying a heavy basket of
clothes. She was evidently a laundress.
His face lighted up with instant recognition.
“Is it you, Ellen?” he said.
The woman turned pale, and nearly dropped the basket she was carrying.
“James!” she ejaculated, faintly.
“Yes, Ellen, it is your poor, unfortunate husband. Egad, I’m glad to
see you.”
It was now over three years since James Barclay and his wife had met.
She had never been very happy with him, after the first few months of
married life, and she did not know now whether to be glad or sorry she
had met him. She had not lost all love for him--wives seldom do under
any provocation--but she knew him too well to believe that he had
changed materially. He was likely still to prove a disturbing element
in her life. Yet she felt a momentary pleasure, lonely as she was, in
meeting the man who, ten years before, had captured her affections.
“Are you glad to see me, Ellen?” asked Barclay, in an unusually
pleasant tone.
“Yes,” she answered, slowly.
“How are the children? I don’t suppose I should know them.”
“They are well. Jimmy and Mary are going to school. Jimmy sells papers
evenings to help me along.”
“How old is the young rascal?”
“Eight years old.”
“Is he a chip of the old block, eh, Ellen?”
“I hope not,” said the woman, heartily. Then, with a half frightened
look, she added, “Don’t be offended with me, James, but I don’t want
him to follow in your steps.”
“No offense, Ellen,” said Barclay, laughingly. “I don’t pretend to be
an angel, and I hope the kid will be more of one than I. And how are
you yourself, old woman?”
“I’ve had to work very hard, James,” sighed the woman. “It’s been all I
can do to earn a poor living for the children.”
“I wish I could help you, and perhaps I may. I’m expecting some money
tomorrow, and I’m hanged if I don’t give you ten dollars of it.”
“It would be a great help to me, James,” said his wife, with a
momentary look of pleasure.
“Are you going home now?”
“Yes, James.”
“I’ll go along, too, and see what sort of a crib you’ve got. Can you
let me have some dinner?”
“Yes, James, though it’ll be a poor one.”
“O, I shan’t mind. Here, give me that basket. I’m stronger than you.”
“Has he really reformed and become better?” thought Ellen, puzzled. She
had never been used to such marks of attention from her husband. But he
was in an amiable frame of mind. He had found a place of refuge till
the next day, and then he would draw fifty dollars from his father--the
first of many forced loans he promised himself.
He lounged away the rest of the day at his wife’s poor room. When the
children came home from school he received them with boisterous good
nature. They seemed afraid of him, remembering his severity in earlier
days, but this only seemed to amuse him.
“That’s a pretty way to receive your loving father,” he said,
laughingly. “Come here and sit on my knee, Mary.”
The little girl obeyed with scared face, because she did not dare to
refuse lest she should anger her father. So the day passed. James
Barclay lay in bed late next morning, but about eleven o’clock started
for New York, to meet the appointment with his father.
A little before noon he ascended the staircase, and opened the door of
the room which he had visited the day before.
It was empty!
His face darkened, and an unpleasant misgiving entered his mind.
He knocked at the door of the opposite room, which was opened by a
woman.
“What has become of the old man who occupied the room opposite?” he
asked.
“He has moved,” answered Mrs. Duane.
“Moved! When did he move?”
“This morning, I believe.”
“Where has he gone to?”
“He didn’t leave word.”
“The old fox!” muttered James Barclay. “He has gone to get rid of me.
But I’ll follow him up, and sooner or later I’ll find him.”