“I thought you expected to have some money today, James,” she said.
“Yes, but I didn’t get it. Just my cursed luck!” he answered, bitterly. “My own father turns his back on me, and won’t give me a cent, though he has money in plenty.”
“Your father?” said his wife in surprise. “Is he—have you seen him?”
“Yes, I saw him yesterday, and told him I would call today for fifty dollars. I went, and found the old scoundrel had disappeared.”
“Is it right to call your father by such a name? He may not have had the money.”
“You don’t know my father. He’s a miser, and always has been. He lives in a wretched hole, not so good as this place, while he has thousands of dollars invested, or hidden somewhere. He thinks he’s got rid of me, but” (here an oath escaped his lips) “he will find he’s mistaken.”
All this was new to Mrs. Barclay, who had heard very little of her husband’s family.
“Perhaps if you find him you could induce him to come and live with us,” she said. “He might take an interest in the children and do something for them.”
“More likely he would want to live off us. However, if I could once get him here, I’d manage to get my hand into his purse. It’s a good idea.”