"Sit down then," said Mrs. Flanagan, hospitably. "I've got some left from breakfast, only it's cold, but if you'll wait a bit, I'll warm it over for you."
Nothing loth, Mother Watson sank into a chair, and began to give a full account of her ailments to her neighbor, who tried hard to sympathize with her, though, knowing the cause of the ailments, she found this rather difficult.
"Have you seen anything of my boy this morning?" she asked after a while.
"What, Mark?" said Mrs. Flanagan. "Didn't he come home last night?"
"No," said the old woman, "and he isn't home yet. When he does come I'll give him a dose of the strap. He's a bad, lazy, shiftless boy, and worries my life out."
"You're hard on the poor boy, Mother Watson. You must remember he's but a wisp of a lad, and hasn't much strength."
"He's strong enough," muttered Mother Watson. "It's lazy he is. Just let him come home, that's all!"
"You told him not to come home unless he had twenty-five cents to bring with him."
"So I did, and why didn't he do it?"
"He couldn't get the money, it's likely, and he's afraid of bein' bate."