Mrs. Mack uttered a little cry of alarm.
"Oh, don't go into a fit, aunt! I only want a little, just to get along till I can find work. Give me twenty-five dollars, and I won't come near you again for a month. I swear it."
"Twenty-five dollars!" ejaculated Mrs. Mack in dismay. "Do you think I am made of money?"
"I don't take you for an Astor or a Vanderbilt, Aunt Jane, but you've got a tidy lot of money somewhere—that I am sure of. I shouldn't wonder if you had five thousand dollars. Now where do you keep it?"
"Have you taken leave of your senses?" asked the old woman sharply.
"No, I haven't, but it looks to me as if you had. But I can't waste my time here all night. I'm your only relative, and it's your duty to help me. Will you let me have twenty-five dollars or not?"
"No, I won't," answered Mrs. Mack angrily.
"Then I'll take the liberty of helping myself if I can find where you keep your hoards."
Jack Minton jumped up from his chair and went at once to a cheap bureau, which, however, was probably the most valuable article in the room, and pulling out the top drawer, began to rummage about among the contents. Then it was that Mrs. Mack uttered the piercing shriek referred to at the end of the last chapter, and her nephew, tramping across the floor, seized her roughly by the shoulder.
"What do you mean by this noise, you old fool?" he demanded roughly.