“I need all I have for the support of Andy and myself.”
“Then I am afraid—I am really afraid—my client will levy upon your furniture.”
“Oh, heavens!” exclaimed the poor woman, in agitation. “Can such things be allowed in a civilized country?”
“I don’t think you look upon the affair in the right light, Mrs. Gordon,” said Lawyer Ross, rising from the rocking-chair in which he had been seated. “It is a common thing, and quite regular, I can assure you. I will venture to give you a week to find the receipt, though not authorized by my client to do so. Good-afternoon!”
As he was going out he met, on the threshold, Andy, excited and out of breath.
The boy just caught a glimpse of his mother in tears, through the open door of the sitting room, and said to Mr. Ross, whom he judged to be responsible for his mother’s grief:
“What have you been saying to my mother, to make her cry?”
“Stand aside, boy! It’s none of your business,” said the lawyer, who lost all his blandness when he saw the boy who had assaulted his son.
“My mother’s business is mine,” said Andy, firmly.
“You will have enough to do to attend to your own affairs,” said the lawyer, with a sneer. “You made a great mistake when you made a brutal assault upon my son.”