"So he is," chimed in Ben. "I'll tell you what I'd do, if I were you."
"What?"
"I'd disinherit him. Cut him off with a shilling'."
"I mean to," said Martin, pleased to find sympathy in his dislike to his stepson.
Probably the newsboy would not have suffered acute anguish, had he learned his stepfather's intention to disinherit him, as the well-known lines, "Who steals my purse, steals trash," might at almost any time have been appropriately applied to Mr. Martin's purse, when he happened to carry one.
Ben paid the toll at the ferry, and the two entered the boat together. He conducted Mr. Martin to the Gentleman's Cabin, where he found him a seat in the corner. James Martin sank down, and closed his eyes in a drowsy fit, produced by the liquor he had drunk.
Ben took a seat opposite him.
"You're an interestin' object," soliloquized Ben, as he looked across the cabin at his companion "It's a great blessin' to be an orphan, if a feller can't own a better father than that. However, I'll stick to him till I get him home. I wonder what he'd say if he knowed what I was goin' with him for. If things don't go contrary, I guess I'll get the little girl away from him afore long."
When the boat struck the Brooklyn pier, James Martin was asleep.
"There aint no hurry," thought Ben; "I'll let him sleep a little while."