The old man, looking the picture of despondency in his ragged suit, and with his long, gray locks floating over his shoulders, turned at the words.
“Yes, sir,” he said, “I am poor and in trouble, and my heart is sore.”
“Is the man who has just left you related to you?”
“He is my only son.”
“He doesn’t seem kind to you.”
“No; he cares nothing for his old father.”
“How did you become so poor?”
“He is the cause. When he was turned twenty-one I was worth ten thousand dollars. He forged my name, more than once, and to save him I paid the forged notes. So it happened that I was turned out in my old age from the farm and the home that had been mine for twenty-five years, and in the end I was sent to the poorhouse.”
“Then he brought all this upon you?”
“Yes.”