"Pop, look at me ... stop this nonsense ... you're safe ... I'm your son, Johnnie!"
"That's all very well," he assented with an air of reserved cunning.
"Please believe me," I pleaded.
"All right ... you are my son ... only don't kill me," he responded craftily.
"Father!... good God!"
He perceived by the emotion of my last exclamation, that at least I was not ill-disposed toward him.
He clutched at the advantage.
"Promise to take care of me till Johnnie comes—he's just around the corner," slyly.
"Pop, what is it you want? What can I do for you?"
"A curious greed flickered in his eyes.