“Yes, grand—yes, Jerry.”
“Then, Paul, you can do me a great favor. You will, won’t you?” pleaded the old man, coaxingly.
“What is it?” inquired Paul, suspiciously.
“Tell them how poor I am, Paul, and ask them if they won’t help me. It would be nothing to rich folks to send an old man ten dollars, or twenty, and would do me a sight of good.”
“You must be crazy to ask me such a thing,” answered Paul, sternly. “Have you no shame, or do you think I have none, to beg money of strangers?”
“But I am so poor, Paul,” whined the miser.
“I am tired of hearing of that, Jerry,” said the boy, with an expression of disgust on his face. “It was bad enough when I believed you to be really poor, but now that I know you to have plenty of money, and are very likely rich, it makes me sick to hear you tell such falsehoods.”
“Is this the way you talk to a poor old man who has brought you up?” whined old Jerry.
Paul was in no wise moved by this appeal. He knew too well the extent of his obligations to the old miser.
“I have always paid my way, Jerry,” he said, coldly. “Even when I was only six years old, I earned all I cost you. If you think I am any expense to you, I am willing to leave you any time.”