“You may be sure he did. But it didn’t do him much good.”
“How is that?”
“His store burned down. Some say it was set on fire by an enemy, and he had plenty. It wasn’t insured, for the insurance company had increased its rates, and Mr. Stubbs was too mean to pay them. Then in trying to put out the fire—it was a cold winter night—he caught a bad cold which brought on consumption, and finally made him helpless. Would you like to know where he is now?”
“Yes.”
“He is in the poorhouse, for all his means had melted away. The man in charge is about as amiable as Stubbs himself, and I have no doubt he has a pretty hard time of it. I don’t pity him, for my part, for he made my mother unhappy, and drove me to sea.”
“I am sorry for you, Jack. Your luck has been worse than mine. My father and mother are both dead, but as long as they lived they fared well.”
“No one ever tried to rob them of money, as my mother was robbed of her small fortune?”
“I don’t feel sure of that,” said Bernard thoughtfully.
“What do you mean?”
Then Bernard told Jack what he had heard from Alvin Franklin about his father’s having had money, and of his suspicion that Mr. McCracken had appropriated it.