“For drink!” repeated our hero. “Are you not satisfied with taking all my uncle’s earnings, but you must get my aunt to work her fingers to the bone and then keep back her money in payment for your rum?” “Upon my word, Robert Coverdale,” said Mrs. Jones sharply, “you are very impudent! How dare you speak to me in that way?” “How dare you treat my aunt so meanly?” retorted Robert with righteous indignation. “I won’t stand your impudence--so there! Your aunt needn’t expect any more sewing to do,” said the angry landlady. “She wouldn’t take any more of your work if that is the way you mean to pay her.” “I won’t stand here talking with you. I’ll get Mr. Jones to give you a horsewhipping--see if I don’t!” “He’d better not try it,” said Robert with flashing eyes. The door was slammed in his face, and, angry and disappointed, he walked slowly out of the tavern yard. CHAPTER III THE WIND BROUGHT GOOD LUCK John Trafton was sitting out on the porch of the tavern when his nephew came out of the side gate. “There’s your nephew, Trafton,” said old Ben Brandon, who, like John Trafton, frequented the barroom too much for his good. “Hasn’t come here for his dram, has he?” added the old man, chuckling. John Trafton’s curiosity was excited, for he had no idea of any errand that could bring Robert to the tavern. A suspicion crossed his mind, the very thought of which kindled his indignation. His wife might have sent to request Mr. Jones not to sell him any more liquor. He did not think she would dare to do it, but she might. At any rate he determined to find out. He hastily left the porch and followed Robert. Presently the boy heard his uncle call him and he turned round. “What’s wanted, uncle?” he inquired. “Where have you been, Robert?” “I called to see Mrs. Jones.” “What did you want of Mrs. Jones?” “It was an errand for Aunt Jane.” “Will you answer my question?” said Trafton angrily. “What business has your aunt got with Mrs. Jones?” He still thought that his wife had sent a message to Mr. Jones through the wife of the latter. “She had been doing a little sewing for Mrs. Jones and asked me to carry the work back.” “Oh, that’s it, is it?” said John Trafton, relieved. “And how much did the work come to?” “Twenty-five cents.” “You may give me the money, Robert,” said the fisherman. “You might lose it, you know.” Could Robert be blamed for regarding his uncle with contempt? His intention evidently was to appropriate his wife’s scanty earnings to his own use, spending them, of course, for drink. Certainly a man must be debased who will stoop to anything so mean, and Robert felt deeply ashamed of the man he was forced to call uncle. “I can’t give you the money, uncle,” said Robert coldly. “Can’t, hey? What do you mean by that, I want to know?” demanded the fisherman suspiciously. “My aunt wanted me to buy a little tea and a loaf of bread with the money.”