Martin went back to Leonard Street, therefore, still with a vague hope that he might find the children at home. But he was destined to be disappointed. The room was as dark and cheerless and lonely as ever.
"What does it all mean?" thought Martin. "Has the young rascal given me the slip?"
He had been in the room only five minutes, when there was a knock at the door.
It proved to be the landlord's agent, who collected the rent.
"Your month's rent is due, Mr. Martin," he said.
"I haven't got any money."
"That answer won't do," said the man, shortly.
"You'll have to come again to-morrow, at any rate. My boy's got the money for the rent, and he isn't in now."
"You must be ready to-morrow, or move out."
"I guess it'll be move then, if the boy doesn't come back," muttered Martin. "One good thing, he can't escape me. I can catch him to-morrow morning when he's selling papers. Rent or no rent, I'll get one more night's rest in this room."