“Well, mother, I have no animosity against the man himself: and, if you forgive him, I do not see why I should do anything.”
“I don’t forgive him, Jack; but I think of my own poor boy.”
“Well, mother, since you wish it, it shall be so; and if I do prove that the man I suspect is the party, I will say nothing, and make Anderson promise the same, as I think he will. But how is it that people come to rob a poor old woman like you? How is it, mother, that there is a report going about that you have money?”
“Is there such a report, Jack?”
“Yes, mother, every one says so; why, I do not know; and as long as it is supposed, you will always be subject to attacks like this, unless, indeed, if you have money, you were to put it away safely, and let everybody know that you have done so. Tell me truly, mother, have you any money?”
“Jack, what a boy you are to ask questions. Well, perhaps I have a little—a very little; but no one will ever find out where I have hidden it.”
“But they will try, mother, as this man has done, and you will always be in peril of your life. Why not place it into the hands of some safe person?”
“Safe person! Who’s safe nowadays?”
“Why, for instance, there’s Mr Wilson.”
“Wilson! what do you know about him, Jack, except that he has a smooth face and a bald head? You’re young, Jack, and don’t know the world. The money’s safe where it is, and no one will ever find it.”