“I’ll come up with you for this, Bob Coverdale!” he muttered angrily.
“For what? Paying you money, Mr. Jones?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do know what you mean,” returned the boy gravely. “This money is in payment for liquor furnished to my poor uncle—liquor which broke up the happiness of his home and finally led to his death. You laid a plot to deprive my aunt, whom you had so much injured, of her home, but you have been defeated. We don’t care to have anything more to do with you.”
There is no need of recording the landlord’s ill-natured answer. He was angry and humiliated, and, when he got home, snapped up Mrs. Jones when she began to make inquiries about the new property. He felt the worse because he had been defeated by a boy.
CHAPTER XXXIV
HOW IT ENDED
“Robert,” said Gilbert Huet later in the day, “next week Julian and I go to Boston, where we shall try to make a home for ourselves.”
Robert looked sober.