“So he is—of the kind!” retorted her husband. “If you were not blind you would see that he has got hold of my father’s property, and means to keep the lion’s share of it for himself. When will he be home?”
“Not till six o’clock.”
“And it’s only three. I don’t think I can wait.”
It was fortunate that he did not see the look of satisfaction upon his wife’s face. It would have incensed him, for his temper, as the reader has had occasion to learn, was not of the best.
“Look here!” he said, after a moment’s reflection, “give me the seventy five cents. I’ll make it do till I get a chance to see this telegraph boy.”
“But, James, I really can’t spare it. I need it to buy some supper and medicines for your father.”
“And I need it to buy some supper for myself!” returned her husband, roughly. “There’s plenty more money where that came from.”
“Oh, James! how can you be so hard and selfish!”
“Hard and selfish, just because I don’t want to starve. I s’pose you’d be glad to read my obituary in the paper some fine morning, Mrs. Barclay, eh?”
“Shure she wouldn’t read much good of you, I’m thinkin’,” said Mrs. Hogan.