“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.”