CHAPTER XXXII.
ARTHUR GRIGSON’S TREACHERY.
“Open the letter, quick!” cried Victor in feverish anxiety. “I don’t see why father didn’t write to me.”
The letter was opened. The reader is already acquainted with its contents. Arthur read it aloud, and Victor turned sick with disappointment.
“Well,” ejaculated Arthur, “if that isn’t a cold-blooded message for a man to send to his own son! And he rolling in wealth!”
“I was afraid he would refuse to send me some money,” said Victor. “What is that last sentence?”
“He says if you will come home he will see whether he will forgive you—that’s the upshot of it.”
“But I can’t go home without money unless you will pay my way. You will, won’t you, Arthur? I’ll pay you back just as soon as I can.”
“But you can’t, you know,” returned Arthur coldly. “Your father has always given you a very small allowance, and you can’t save anything out of that.”