“I will try to come over tomorrow evening, if you think he will be at home.” “It would be a good thing for you if the ould man has money, as Paul thinks,” said Mrs. Hogan, in a low voice. “Not if my husband were free,” said Ellen Barclay. “Thrue for you! He came near murderin’ the ould man. But there’s a dale of virtue in hot water,” added Mrs. Hogan, with a laugh. “He made a mistake when he tackled Bridget Hogan, I can tell him that, now.” “I shall have to go now, Mrs. Hogan. I left the children alone.” “Not without a cup of tay. I’m just goin’ to make some for the ould man, and you’re welcome to a cup.” “Thank you, Mrs. Hogan. I know of old that your tea is good.” “It is that same, if I say so myself.” “One thing I can’t understand,” said Ellen Barclay, thoughtfully. “You say the telegraph boy pays you for taking care of this old man?” “Yes, he does.” “But where does he get the money? Telegraph boys are not usually paid a big salary.” “That’s thrue; but Paul is such a favorite he gets many presents. He’s an honest boy, and it’s my hope my boy Mike will grow up just loike him.” “I will see him for myself tomorrow evening. If Jerry, as you call him, is really my father in law, I ought to know it. He seems a very different man from my husband. I can’t see any resemblance between them.” “That’s not strange, neither. Pat Hogan’s father was a little, dried up shrimp of a man like ould Jerry here, and Pat was five tin, or tin feet five, in his stockings I disremember which.” “I think it must be five feet ten,” said Ellen Barclay, with a smile. “No doubt you’re right, ma’am. But just come round tomorrow evenin’ and see Paul, and then, maybe, you’ll find out all you want to know.” CHAPTER XXVII. JERRY DISCOVERS HIS LOSS. It was not until late in the afternoon that Jerry regained sufficient command of his faculties to observe that his clothes had been removed. He uttered a cry of alarm which brought Mrs. Hogan into the room. She found the old man struggling to rise in bed, but without success, so great was his weakness. “Don’t try to get up, Jerry!” she said, soothingly. “Lie still, there’s a good man!” “Bring me my clothes!” gasped Jerry. “And what for do you want your clothes?” asked Mrs. Hogan, supposing that he wished to dress. “Shure the doctor said you must have them taken off. It would be better for you.” “Bring them to me--quick!” gasped the old man once more. “Shure, and what will you do with them?” “Never mind, woman! Bring them to me, or I’ll have you arrested for robbing me.” “O, that’s it, is it?” retorted the nurse, bridling. “If I couldn’t find anything to stale better’n them, I’d remain honest to the end of my life.” “If you won’t bring them here, I’ll get up myself.” “Take the clothes, thin,” said Mrs. Hogan, lifting them gingerly, as though afraid of contamination. “Shure, I wouldn’t give two cents for the lot of ’em.”