“Go away! Go away!” ejaculated the old man in terrified accents.
“Couldn’t think of it, father,” said James, throwing himself on the
sofa and lighting his pipe. “What, leave you and my wife--how on earth
did you find the old man out, Ellen? Now all the family’s together,
we’ll live together in peace and happiness. We’ll never desert the old
man, will we, Ellen?”
“I wish you would not smoke here, James. It is bad for your father, who
has a difficulty in breathing.”
“Oho! You take the old man’s part against me, do you?” said James
Barclay, his brow darkening. “You haven’t seen me for weeks, and you
begin to jaw already.”
“Ask him to go away, Ellen,” said Jerry, feebly.
“Oh, you’re anxious to get rid of me, are you?” sneered James Barclay.
“You would drive me away from my family, would you? Are you still
living in Jersey City, Ellen?”
“No, I have taken a room here.”
“That’s right. I’ve no objection. What does the doctor say about the
old man? Is he going to die?”
“Hush, James,” said his wife. “How can you be so inconsiderate?”
“Who says I am going to die?” asked Jerry, terrified.
“I hope you will live a good while yet,” said Ellen Barclay,
soothingly. “I will take every care of you.”
“I’m not such an old man,” interrupted Jerry. “I ought to live a--a
long time.”
“Come, dad, you’re unreasonable,” said James, coarsely. “You’re
seventy, if you’re a day. You don’t want to live forever, do you?”
“My own son wants me to die,” moaned Jerry.
“Well, you’ve had your share of life. Ain’t you goin’ to give me a
chance?”
“Why will you talk in this way, James?” expostulated his wife, as the
old man gave a cry and buried his face in the bed clothes.
“How have I been talking? It’s the truth, ain’t it?”
“You are only making your father worse.”
“Well, if you’re anxious to get rid of me, give me a few dollars, and
I’ll stay away till tomorrow.”
“I have no money of my own, James.”
“Then whose money have you?”
“I have some money that Paul gave me to buy necessaries for your
father.”
“Then give me some.”
“I have only a little of that left. I must ask Paul for more----”
“Oh, the telegraph boy’s got the money, has he? Look here, you young
rapscallion, I’ll take charge of the old man’s money. I am his son, and
I am the proper party to do it. So hand over!”
“I have no money of your father’s. I have been advancing money of my
own.”
“That’s too thin. You haven’t got any money of your own.”
“I don’t care whether you believe it or not. However, I’ll give you two
dollars if you’ll go away now.”
“Hand it over, then. I won’t come back till tomorrow.”
The old man was in such a nervous condition, that Paul was glad to
obtain even such a brief respite as this. He drew from his pocket a two
dollar bill, and handed it to James Barclay, who immediately got up and
walked towards the door.
“By, by!” he said, “I’ll be back to-morrow.”
“No, no,” said the old man, “I--I don’t want to see you.”
“Now, there’s an affectionate father for you!” said James Barclay, with
a mocking smile. “He don’t want to see his only son.”
“You haven’t given him much reason to miss you, James,” said Ellen
Barclay, mildly.
“So you turn against me, too, Mrs. Barclay,” said her husband, with a
frown. “A nice wife you are, upon my word!”
“Shure you’re a jewel of a husband yourself!” interposed Mrs. Hogan,
who had entered during the conversation.
“And you’re the woman who threw hot water upon me, you old jade!”
retorted James, his face black with anger. “I’ve a great mind to wring
your neck for you.”
He made a step forward, which alarmed Paul, lest he might proceed to
carry out his threat.
“Oho!” laughed Barclay. “The kid is going to defend you.”
“And a fine boy he is!” said Mrs. Hogan. “But don’t you trouble
yourself, Number 91. I’m a match for the ould brute any time.”
Mrs. Hogan, standing with her arms akimbo, looked thoroughly fearless
and undaunted. She was a powerful woman, and, though James Barclay was
of course her superior in physical force, he would not have found her
an unresisting victim.
“Why don’t he go away?” was heard in a wailing voice from the bed.
“He is going directly,” answered Ellen Barclay, in a soothing voice.
James Barclay’s brow contracted.
“So you’re sowing mischief between my father and me, my lady!” he said.
“Well, it’s just what I expected. But don’t you forget one thing! I’m
the rightful heir of that old ninny on the bed there, and if anybody
tries to cut me out, he’ll find I’ve got something to say about it.”
“That’s a pretty way to talk of your father--as an ould ninny,” said
Mrs. Hogan, indignantly.
“Never you mind! It’s none of your business. I suppose you’re looking
for a slice of the property yourself.”
“No, I’m not Mr. James Barclay. I’m an honest woman, and can earn my
own living.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But I’m not so sure of the telegraph boy. He’s
been living on the old man all his life, and he means to be provided
for when he dies.”
“I don’t know what your father would have done without him,” said Mrs.
Hogan. “He’s worked for old Jerry ever since he was six years old--when
his own flesh and blood deserted him. Isn’t it so, Jerry?”
“Yes, Paul is a good boy,” responded Jerry, feebly.
“Oh, no doubt; he’s an angel,” sneered James Barclay. “I say, Number
91, as you seem to have my father’s money, I’ll just mention that I
shall want ten dollars tomorrow.”
“I have no money of your father’s, Mr. Barclay, and I shall not be able
to advance you the money myself.”
“Well, it’s got to come from some quarter,” said Barclay; “whether he
gives it to me, or you, I don’t care, as long as I have it.”
“You ought to earn your own living--you’re big and strong enough,” said
Mrs. Hogan, with spirit.
“Thank you; you’re a fine woman,” said James Barclay, mockingly. “If
Mrs. Barclay would only be obliging enough to leave me a widower, I
might take you for my second wife.”
“And leave me to support you!” retorted Mrs. Hogan. “Thank you for
nothing. I’d rather be a widow all the days of my life than to marry
you.”
James Barclay laughed.
“And yet some people think me good looking,” he said.
“Then they must be blind; however, it isn’t the way you look, it’s the
way you behave that sets me aginst you.”
“That’s a pity; for your sake, my sweet Mrs. Hogan, I might be tempted
to turn over a new leaf.”
“Shure, it’s more than one new leaf you’ll need to turn over, I’m
thinkin’.”
Paul laughed at this retort, and even the victim of Mrs. Hogan’s
sarcasm was forced to laugh, too. Then, greatly to the relief of all
present, the unwelcome visitor left the house.
“Shure, I pity you, Mrs. Barclay,” said Mrs. Hogan, sympathetically,
“for havin’ such a husband as that. What made you marry him?”
“Because I thought him a different man, but the delusion didn’t last
long. Before three months had passed I found that he had married me for
a few hundred dollars left me by my aunt. When he had spent them, he
treated me with neglect.”
“Shure’s it’s the way wid the men!”
“I hope not with all of them, Mrs. Hogan,” said Paul, smiling.
“No, Paul, I don’t mean you. I wouldn’t mind marrying you if you were
old enough.”
“There, I’ve had one offer,” said Paul. “Excuse my blushes!”