Meantime, Fred Farnham had heard of Chester's death and was preparing to go out, hoping to give some comfort to his family. To this end he had gone to his mother for money. The Chesters had refused aid of him before, but now he was resolved to deceive them into accepting it through his Uncle Peters.
"What do you want money for, Fred—twenty dollars—if you are in for a champagne supper or something of that sort, I don't mind; but I must know where the money goes?"
Mrs. Farnham was arranging a tiny French cap on the back of her head, as she made these motherly demonstrations, and its graceful lightness threw her into a charming state of liberality.
"As a mother, you know, Fred, I am bound to see that the money which you ask rather liberally, I must say, is judiciously spent; now tell me where this is going?"
"I intend to help a poor family, who have been wronged and are in trouble," said the generous boy.
Mrs. Farnham closed her pearl portmonnaie with a fierce snap of the clasp.
"Frederick," she said, with a degree of energy that made the delicate spray in her cap tremble, as if it shared her indignation, "I cannot encourage this extravagance, you are getting into low society, sir, and—oh! Fred, you will break your mother's heart if you persist in following after these low people."
"Why, they live in the house with my Aunt Peters, mamma."
"There it is—I do believe you intend to drive me into hysterics; will you never learn that your Aunt Peters is not to be spoken of, and only visited in a quiet way? There is a medium, Fred, a medium, do you comprehend?"
"But what has my Aunt Peters done?"