The man was utterly unreasonable, and his wife can hardly be blamed if there rose in her mind a regret that he had not stayed away longer, and left her and the children in peace. “I thought you expected to have some money today, James,” she said. “Yes, but I didn’t get it. Just my cursed luck!” he answered, bitterly. “My own father turns his back on me, and won’t give me a cent, though he has money in plenty.” “Your father?” said his wife in surprise. “Is he--have you seen him?” “Yes, I saw him yesterday, and told him I would call today for fifty dollars. I went, and found the old scoundrel had disappeared.” “Is it right to call your father by such a name? He may not have had the money.” “You don’t know my father. He’s a miser, and always has been. He lives in a wretched hole, not so good as this place, while he has thousands of dollars invested, or hidden somewhere. He thinks he’s got rid of me, but” (here an oath escaped his lips) “he will find he’s mistaken.” All this was new to Mrs. Barclay, who had heard very little of her husband’s family. “Perhaps if you find him you could induce him to come and live with us,” she said. “He might take an interest in the children and do something for them.” “More likely he would want to live off us. However, if I could once get him here, I’d manage to get my hand into his purse. It’s a good idea.” “Does he live alone? He must be an old man.” “He’s all bent and shriveled up; he’s got a telegraph boy living with him, he told me. I hate telegraph boys--I met one the other night--an impudent young rascal! I’d like to meet him again. I’d wring the kid’s neck for him.” “Where did you meet him, James?” James Barclay eyed his wife suspiciously. He did not care to tell her under what circumstances he met Paul Parton. “Never you mind, old woman!” he said. “It’s no concern of yours.” “If you don’t want to tell me, I don’t care to know, James,” she answered, meekly. “Well, I don’t want to tell you. But about the old man’s coming here, it’s a good idea of yours. I will send off the telegraph boy, for he might be dangerous. Ten to one he’s trying to get the old man to leave him his property. I wish I knew where he is.” “Haven’t you got any clew?” “No, he’s hid somewhere. He won’t come out of his hole for fear of meeting me.” “If you could meet this telegraph boy, you might learn through him where your father is.” “Unfortunately, Mrs. B., I don’t know the telegraph boy--never met him--shouldn’t know him from Adam.” “I suppose he has a number.” “That’s so, old woman!” exclaimed Barclay, slapping his knee with emphasis. “I think I know where I can find out his number, and then it’ll be easy to find him. He can’t hide from me, for he has to be on duty every day. But I shall want money--just give me that dollar!” “I can’t, James; the poor children would have to go without their supper.”