Though old Jerry was more sensible than some misers in resisting the
temptation of keeping all his money at home, where he might feast his
eyes in the contemplation of it, he had a little hoard of gold pieces
which he secreted in his room, and which from time to time he took out
and counted with gloating eyes.
This very day he had taken them from their place of concealment, and,
spreading them on the bed, was counting them over with trembling
fingers when his son quietly opened the door, and entered the room.
The old man looked around, pale and alarmed, and clutched at the gold
in the hope of hiding it before the intruder, whoever it might be,
could catch a glimpse of it. But he was nervous, and had only thrust a
part of the gold hurriedly into his pocket when James entered.
Over the old man’s face there crept an expression of dire dismay. There
was no one in the world whom he less wished to see than his son.
The latter’s keen glance detected his father’s employment, and did not
fail to observe the half dozen gold pieces still remaining on the bed
spread, though old Jerry, as quickly as possible, gathered them up, and
thrust them into his pocket.
“Good morning, dad!” said James, in a jocular tone. “I am afraid you
are not glad to see me.”
Old Jerry stared at him in mute consternation.
“Considering that I am your only son, you might give me a better
welcome,” said James, carefully closing the door, and sinking into a
chair.
“Go away, go away!” said the old man, hoarsely. “You--you are a bold,
bad man, and I don’t want to see you.”
“Come, dad, that is unkind!” said James Barclay, in a bantering tone.
“You mustn’t forget that I am your son.”
“I wish I could forget it,” muttered the old man.
“I am not so bad as you think I am, father. Seeing that we are all that
is left of the family, it’s only right that we should live friendly.
I’m glad to see you are not so poor as you pretend.”
“You--you are mistaken, James,” whined old Jerry. “I am very poor.”
“That don’t go down, dad. What were you doing when I came in?”
Old Jerry looked confused.
“How many gold pieces have you got there? Let me count them.”
“Three--or four,” stammered Jerry, unable to deny the statement
entirely.
“Three or four!” repeated James, mockingly. “Thirty or forty, more
likely.”
“You--you are quite wrong, James,” said Jerry, in nervous alarm.
“It’s--it’s all I have in the world.”
“Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn’t. When I was here before, you
pretended you didn’t have any money at all. What are you going to do
with it?”
“I am keeping it to--to bury me,” answered Jerry.
“Then you’d better give it to me. You can’t bury yourself, you know.
I’ll see you buried all right when the time comes.”
“I couldn’t do it, James. I must keep it as long as I live. When I
die--”
“It comes to me, I suppose.”
“Ye--es.”
“Then I might as well have it now, don’t you think so, dad?”
“Go away! I don’t feel well. I want to be left alone,” stammered Jerry,
with a terrified look at the stout, broad shouldered visitor, whom he
could hardly believe to be his son, so great was the difference between
the burly strength of the one, and the shrinking weakness of the other.
“Look here, dad, you ain’t treating me well. You don’t seem to consider
that I am your only son. Are you saving up your money for that young
telegraph brat that lives with you?”
“Paul is a good boy,” mumbled Jerry. “He doesn’t scare and trouble me
like you, James.”
“That isn’t answering my question. Are you going to leave him all your
money?”
“I--I have very little--to leave, James,” returned the old man, lapsing
into his usual whine. “There won’t be anything left when my funeral
expenses are paid.”
“What there is will go to me, will it?”
“I--I suppose so,” faltered Jerry.
“Then I think you’d better make your will and say so. Otherwise that
boy will claim all.”
“Paul is a good boy. I--I should starve but for what he brings me every
week.”
“You look half starved as it is. Come, are you willing to make your
will in my favor?”
“I--I’ll think of it, James.”
“And give it to me to keep.”
“It--it won’t do you any good, I--I am so poor.”
“I’ll take the chance of that. You’ve got more money in your pocket
than would bury you five times over.”
“No--no,” protested the old man in alarm. “You--you frighten me,
James. I don’t feel well. Won’t you go away?”
“There is no need to be scared, dad. I don’t want your money.”
“Is that true, James?” said the old man, in a tone of relief. “I have
so little it wouldn’t do you any good.”
“Didn’t that boy tell you I wanted to make you a present?”
“Yes, he said so.”
“Yet you hid away from me and wouldn’t let me know where you lived.”
“Did Paul tell you? How did you find me out, James?”
“No, he didn’t tell me, but I found out all the same. Never mind how!
Only I warn you it won’t do you any good to hide from me in future. I
have ways of finding you out. But let me convince you that I don’t need
your money. Do you see that?”
As he spoke he drew out a roll of counterfeit bills and exhibited them
to the astonished eyes of old Jerry.
The old man regarded him with new respect as the possessor of such
unexpected wealth.
“Are--are they square?” he asked.
“Of course they are,” answered James. “I intended to give you a present
if you hadn’t treated me so coolly--”
“I meant no offense, James,” said the old man, eying the money with a
look of greed.
“Well, if you apologize, it’s all right!” said James, with noble
magnanimity. “You’ll find you haven’t judged me right. I can do more
for you than that telegraph kid. But I want you to trust me, and treat
me kind, do hear?”
“Yes,” answered Jerry, meekly.
“To show you that I’m in earnest, I’ll make you a fair offer. Give me
two of those five dollar gold pieces, and I’ll give you these two ten
dollar bills. If that isn’t a handsome offer, I don’t know what is.”
Jerry was dazzled by this offer. The fact that it was made by such a
scapegrace as he knew his son to be should have put him on his guard,
but cupidity blinded him.
“Do you mean it, James?” he asked, surveying the bills with avidity.
“Certainly I do. I make the present just to show you that I don’t bear
no grudge, and want to live friendly.”
“Let me see the bills, James.”
“There, take them in your hand if you like.”
Old Jerry took the bills, and eyed them at first longingly, but as he
marked their new appearance a suspicion entered his mind. If they were
counterfeit his son’s unexpected liberal offer would be accounted for.
James’s character, too, made it very probable that he would engage in
circulating counterfeit bills.
“I--I would rather keep the gold, James,” he said, handing back the
bills.
“Then you’re a fool!” said James Barclay roughly. “I see you don’t want
to be friendly. I wanted to be on good terms with you, seein’ you’re my
father, but now I don’t care. Give me that gold!”
“Go away!” said the old man, in renewed alarm.
James Barclay’s reply was to rise from his seat, and stride over to
where his father was sitting on the bed. He seized the old man roughly
by the shoulder, and made a motion to search the pocket containing the
gold pieces.
“Give it up peaceably or I’ll hurt you!” he said.
Jerry uttered a shrill cry, and tried to make a feeble opposition, but
he was like a child in the hands of the burly ruffian.
“Stop your whimpering!” said James, fiercely. “That gold I mean to
have, and you’d best give it up.”
Jerry again uttered a cry, which was heard by Mrs. Hogan, an opposite
neighbor, who, opening the door, saw, unnoticed by either, the uneven
struggle between Jerry and his assailant.
Mrs. Hogan was a brave woman. She dashed back into her own room, and
returned in an instant with a dipper of hot water. Armed with this she
was prepared for hostilities.
“Let the old man alone, you thafe of the worruld!” she exclaimed,
indignantly.
James Barclay turned, and, seeing that it was a woman, replied
scornfully, “Get out of here, woman, or it’ll be the worse for you!”