“That—that is nothing to the purpose. Once more, Mrs. O’Connor, will you pay me my rent?”
“How can I when I have no money?”
“Then you must borrow it. I’ll give you till tomorrow, and not a day longer. Remember that, Mrs. O’Connor, will you not?”
Next Jerry visited the other tenant with rather better success, for he collected one dollar on account.
He waited eagerly for Paul to come home. He had made up his mind to explore Paul’s pockets after he was asleep and get possession of his bank book. With that, as he thought, he would go to the bank and draw the money that stood in Paul’s name. It would be a theft, but Jerry did not look at it in that light. He persuaded himself that he had a perfect right to take the property of the boy who was living under his guardianship, though, to speak properly, it was rather Paul that took care of him.
It was rather late in the evening when Paul got home, for every other evening he was employed. The old man was awake, but pretended to be asleep. Paul took off his coat and vest, and threw himself on the lounge, covering himself up with a quilt. His clothes he put on a chair alongside.
It was not long before he was sound asleep, being much fatigued with the labors of the day.
Old Jerry got up cautiously from the bed. He, too, was dressed, for he seldom took the trouble to undress, and cautiously drew near the lounge. He took up Paul’s coat, and threw his claw-like fingers into an inside pocket. His eyes sparkled with delight as he drew out the telegraph boy’s bank book.
“I’ve got it!” he muttered, gleefully. “Paul isn’t any match for the old man! I—I wonder how much money he has saved up!”
Paul slept on, unaware of the cunning old man’s treachery, and of the danger to which his little treasure was exposed.