“A thousand? Nothing of the sort,” snarled 26 the miser, scratching the coverlet with hooked fingers—always a sign of irritation with him. “I said one, not one thousand.”
She knew all his tricks. To avoid payment, he would always promise generously; but, when it came to drawing a check, he whiningly protested that five hundred was five, three hundred three, and so on.
“This time, father, it is very urgent. John is in a tight fix. Misfortune has been assailing him right and left, and he is nearly bankrupt.”
“Ha, ha! Serve him right,” chuckled the old man. The words positively rattled in his throat. “I always told you he was a fool. I told you, but you wouldn’t listen to me. You insisted upon marrying a sky pilot. Apply up there for help.” He pointed to the ceiling.
“Father, father, be reasonable. There is a man at our house—a sheriff’s officer. Think of it!”
“Aha, has it come to that!” laughed the miser. “Now, he will wake up. Now, we shall see!”
“Not only that, father. Dick may go away.”
“What, fleeing from justice?”
“No, no, father. He is going to volunteer for service in the war.”
She commenced to give him details, but he hushed her down. “How much?—How much?” he asked, insultingly. “I told you before that you 27 have no justification for regarding your son as my heir. Who told you that I was going to leave him a penny? He’s a pauper, and dependent upon his father, not upon me. I owe him nothing.”