“You haven’t given him much reason to miss you, James,” said Ellen Barclay, mildly. “So you turn against me, too, Mrs. Barclay,” said her husband, with a frown. “A nice wife you are, upon my word!” “Shure you’re a jewel of a husband yourself!” interposed Mrs. Hogan, who had entered during the conversation. “And you’re the woman who threw hot water upon me, you old jade!” retorted James, his face black with anger. “I’ve a great mind to wring your neck for you.” He made a step forward, which alarmed Paul, lest he might proceed to carry out his threat. “Oho!” laughed Barclay. “The kid is going to defend you.” “And a fine boy he is!” said Mrs. Hogan. “But don’t you trouble yourself, Number 91. I’m a match for the ould brute any time.” Mrs. Hogan, standing with her arms akimbo, looked thoroughly fearless and undaunted. She was a powerful woman, and, though James Barclay was of course her superior in physical force, he would not have found her an unresisting victim. “Why don’t he go away?” was heard in a wailing voice from the bed. “He is going directly,” answered Ellen Barclay, in a soothing voice. James Barclay’s brow contracted. “So you’re sowing mischief between my father and me, my lady!” he said. “Well, it’s just what I expected. But don’t you forget one thing! I’m the rightful heir of that old ninny on the bed there, and if anybody tries to cut me out, he’ll find I’ve got something to say about it.” “That’s a pretty way to talk of your father--as an ould ninny,” said Mrs. Hogan, indignantly. “Never you mind! It’s none of your business. I suppose you’re looking for a slice of the property yourself.” “No, I’m not Mr. James Barclay. I’m an honest woman, and can earn my own living.” “I’m glad to hear it. But I’m not so sure of the telegraph boy. He’s been living on the old man all his life, and he means to be provided for when he dies.” “I don’t know what your father would have done without him,” said Mrs. Hogan. “He’s worked for old Jerry ever since he was six years old--when his own flesh and blood deserted him. Isn’t it so, Jerry?” “Yes, Paul is a good boy,” responded Jerry, feebly. “Oh, no doubt; he’s an angel,” sneered James Barclay. “I say, Number 91, as you seem to have my father’s money, I’ll just mention that I shall want ten dollars tomorrow.” “I have no money of your father’s, Mr. Barclay, and I shall not be able to advance you the money myself.” “Well, it’s got to come from some quarter,” said Barclay; “whether he gives it to me, or you, I don’t care, as long as I have it.” “You ought to earn your own living--you’re big and strong enough,” said Mrs. Hogan, with spirit. “Thank you; you’re a fine woman,” said James Barclay, mockingly. “If Mrs. Barclay would only be obliging enough to leave me a widower, I might take you for my second wife.” “And leave me to support you!” retorted Mrs. Hogan. “Thank you for nothing. I’d rather be a widow all the days of my life than to marry you.” James Barclay laughed.