CHAPTER X. PAUL LOSES HIS BANK BOOK. Old Jerry felt outraged at Paul’s withholding money from him for deposit in the savings bank. “The--the thieving young rascal!” he muttered to himself, indignantly. “He is putting my money into the bank, and letting me starve at home, while he lives on the fat of the land, and lays up money. Me that have taken care of him ever since he was a little boy, and--and cared for him like a father.” Jerry had a curious idea of the way fathers care for their children, judging from his words. When Paul was only six years old, he had been sent into the streets to sell matches and papers, and, being a bright, winning boy, had earned considerably more, even at that tender age, than many older boys. At times Jerry had induced him to beg, but it was only for a short time. Paul had a natural pride and independence that made him shrink from asking alms, as soon as he was old enough to understand the humiliation of it. So there was never a time when he had not earned his own living, and more besides. But Jerry chose to forget this, and to charge Paul with ingratitude, when he discovered that he had a private fund of his own. “I must get hold of that money,” thought Jerry. “I wonder how much Paul has got.” There was no way of finding out, unless he got hold of the book, or inquired at the bank. He decided to do the latter. Accordingly he went over to the bank, and entering it walked up to the receiving teller. “Was there a boy named Paul Parton here just now?” he asked. “Yes; what of it?” “Did he put some money into the bank?” “Yes.” “How much was it?” “We don’t give information about our depositors,” said the teller. “Is he your grandson?” “Yes; that is, he lives with me.” “You are a depositor also, are you not? I seem to remember your face.” “Yes.” “What is your name?” “Jeremiah Barclay.” “I remember now. Why do you want to know about this boy?” “He ought to have given me the money, instead of putting it into the bank.” “We have nothing to do with that. He did not steal it from you, I presume.” “No,” answered Jerry, reluctantly. It occurred to him for an instant to claim that Paul had robbed him, but he was rather afraid that the telegraph boy would in that case become angry and leave him, and the sum he had in bank would not pay him for that. The miser did not suspect that Paul had over five dollars laid up, having no knowledge of the handsome gift he had received from Mrs. Cunningham. But even if it were only five dollars, it was sufficient to excite Jerry’s cupidity, and he decided that he must manage to get possession of it. “Then you won’t tell me how much money Paul has in the bank?” “It is against our rules.” Jerry felt that he was dismissed, and stumbled out of the bank, forgetting, in his thoughts about Paul, the business of his own which had brought him there.