Old Jerry stared at him in mute consternation. “Considering that I am your only son, you might give me a better welcome,” said James, carefully closing the door, and sinking into a chair. “Go away, go away!” said the old man, hoarsely. “You--you are a bold, bad man, and I don’t want to see you.” “Come, dad, that is unkind!” said James Barclay, in a bantering tone. “You mustn’t forget that I am your son.” “I wish I could forget it,” muttered the old man. “I am not so bad as you think I am, father. Seeing that we are all that is left of the family, it’s only right that we should live friendly. I’m glad to see you are not so poor as you pretend.” “You--you are mistaken, James,” whined old Jerry. “I am very poor.” “That don’t go down, dad. What were you doing when I came in?” Old Jerry looked confused. “How many gold pieces have you got there? Let me count them.” “Three--or four,” stammered Jerry, unable to deny the statement entirely. “Three or four!” repeated James, mockingly. “Thirty or forty, more likely.” “You--you are quite wrong, James,” said Jerry, in nervous alarm. “It’s--it’s all I have in the world.” “Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn’t. When I was here before, you pretended you didn’t have any money at all. What are you going to do with it?” “I am keeping it to--to bury me,” answered Jerry. “Then you’d better give it to me. You can’t bury yourself, you know. I’ll see you buried all right when the time comes.” “I couldn’t do it, James. I must keep it as long as I live. When I die--” “It comes to me, I suppose.” “Ye--es.” “Then I might as well have it now, don’t you think so, dad?” “Go away! I don’t feel well. I want to be left alone,” stammered Jerry, with a terrified look at the stout, broad shouldered visitor, whom he could hardly believe to be his son, so great was the difference between the burly strength of the one, and the shrinking weakness of the other. “Look here, dad, you ain’t treating me well. You don’t seem to consider that I am your only son. Are you saving up your money for that young telegraph brat that lives with you?” “Paul is a good boy,” mumbled Jerry. “He doesn’t scare and trouble me like you, James.” “That isn’t answering my question. Are you going to leave him all your money?” “I--I have very little--to leave, James,” returned the old man, lapsing into his usual whine. “There won’t be anything left when my funeral expenses are paid.” “What there is will go to me, will it?” “I--I suppose so,” faltered Jerry. “Then I think you’d better make your will and say so. Otherwise that boy will claim all.” “Paul is a good boy. I--I should starve but for what he brings me every week.” “You look half starved as it is. Come, are you willing to make your will in my favor?” “I--I’ll think of it, James.” “And give it to me to keep.” “It--it won’t do you any good, I--I am so poor.” “I’ll take the chance of that. You’ve got more money in your pocket than would bury you five times over.”