“Well, it’s nothing to me,” said Paul. “If you ask my opinion, I think he’ll never make a will, and whatever he has will go to his natural heir. I suppose that’s you.” “Yes, it’s me. If I’m dead, I’ve got a wife and two children.” They had reached Barclay Street, and the Astor House was close at hand. “I must leave you now,” said Paul. “I go into the hotel.” “Very well. Don’t forget to tell my father what I told you.” “I will do so.” That evening Paul, in redemption of his promise, said to the miser: “I saw your son, today, Jerry.” The old man’s face wore a startled expression. “You saw--James?” he faltered. “Yes.” “Did he know you lived with me?” “Yes, but I don’t know how he found out. Perhaps he asked at our former lodgings.” “What--what did he say?” “He asked where you had moved.” “You didn’t tell him?” said Jerry, in alarm. “No, I said I could not without your permission.” “Good boy, Paul. Don’t tell him--ever. He--he would come here and ask for money. It would be very foolish, for I am wretchedly poor. Why didn’t you tell him that Paul?” “I don’t think he would believe me if I did. But you are mistaken, he says, about his wanting money. He showed me a roll of bills, and said he had a good position.” “He asked me for fifty dollars when he came to see me. He is a bold, bad man!” “Now he says he is willing to give you money. He says if you will give him five dollars back he will give you a ten dollar bill.” “Did he say that?” asked old Jerry, eagerly. “He told me to tell you that.” Old Jerry’s face wore a look of perplexity. He hated to give up a chance of five dollars, but at the same time he felt afraid of his son. He could not believe him to be in earnest, for such liberality was by no means characteristic of him. “Did he--seem to be in earnest?” he asked Paul. “Yes, he seemed to be, but you know him better than I do. He said he wanted to have a chat with you, as he had not seen you for so many years. What shall I say to him?” Old Jerry didn’t immediately reply. Avarice and greed struggled in his mind with an instinctive fear of his son. “I--I’ll think of it,” he answered. “I can’t tell just yet.” “Shall I say that to him?” “Yes--and--Paul--” “Well.” “Don’t let him follow you home and find me out. He’ll try to do it. He is a--a bad man, as he was a bad boy.” “I will do as you say, Jerry.” Paul was not sorry to carry back this message, for he, too, mistrusted James Barclay, and felt that his desire to see his father covered some sinister design. CHAPTER XVII. A QUEER COMPACT. James Barclay was very much in earnest in wishing to find his father’s new habitation, for he was convinced that the old man possessed a moderate fortune, and he felt that, sooner or later, it would come to him. If in any way he could persuade old Jerry to put it in his hands now, he would be handsomely provided for.