“You know Peter Cook—little Peter?” exclaimed the tramp.
“Yes. Is he a relation of yours?”
“I should think so!” responded Cook, emphatically. “He is my own son—that is, if he is a boy of about your age.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he? Is his mother alive?”
“Your wife!” exclaimed Carl, overwhelmed at the thought.
“She was my wife!” said Cook, “but while I was in California, some years since, she took possession of my small property, procured a divorce through an unprincipled lawyer, and I returned to find myself without wife, child or money. Wasn’t that a mean trick?”
“I think it was.”
“Can you tell me where she is?” asked Cook, eagerly.
“Yes, I can.”