He could not finish, but stood panting, and gazing at the horror-stricken face of his mother.
“No, my boy, I won’t if you don’t want me to,” said the old man, feebly; “but it’s—it’s—such a terrible disgrace.”
“Father,” faltered Tom, in a hoarse whisper, “has she—has she drowned herself?”
“Oh, no, my boy, no—no—no,” cried the old man, with the tears streaming down his cheeks. “She has eloped under disgraceful circumstances.”
“Not with one of the servants, father?” cried Tom.
“No, no, my boy, worse than that.”
“Hang it, father,” cried Tom, savagely, “there is no worse, without she has gone off with a sweep.”
“Yes, yes, my boy,” cried the old man. “She has gone off with an organ-grinder and a monkey!”
“Which?” roared Tom, seizing the poker; “it isn’t murder to kill an ape.”
“No, no, my boy, it’s the organ man. I saw him from the window to-night. I don’t think there was a monkey.”