His duty satisfactorily performed, the miser put on his cloak, and prepared for another task. This was, to raise Mrs. Codman's rent, and so compel her to leave the rooms which she rented of him. This, however, was unnecessary, since, deprived of Charlie's earnings, his mother would have found it impossible to pay the rent previously demanded.
Peter Manson resolved to call upon his tenant in person. He was not afraid of recognition. He felt that the changes which twenty years had wrought in his appearance, would be a sufficient protection. Indeed, this had already been tested; for Peter had already called several times on the same errand, without attracting a glance which could be construed into recognition.
It was the morning after Charlie had disappeared. He had been absent twenty-four hours, and his mother had heard nothing of him. She was in a terrible state of apprehension and anxiety, for few boys were more regular than he in repairing home as soon as his daily duties were over.
Mrs. Codman had sat up late into the night, hoping against her fears that he would return. At length, exhausted by her vigils, she sank upon the bed, but not to sleep. In the morning she rose, unrefreshed, to prepare her solitary meal. But it was in vain. Sorrow and anxiety had taken away her appetite, and she was unable to eat anything.
Soon afterwards a knock was heard at the door. She hastened to open it, hoping to hear some tidings of her lost boy. What was her disappointment to meet the bent form and wrinkled face of Peter Manson, her landlord.
The old man gave her a stealthy glance.
"Why did I not know her before?" he thought. "She is not so very much changed. But I—ha, ha! she don't know who I am."
Mrs. Codman went to a drawer in her bureau, and took therefrom six dollars.
"This is the amount of your rent, I believe," she said.
The old man greedily closed his fingers upon the money, and then, after intimating that it was very small, avowed his determination to raise the rent to two dollars per week.