"All right," said the good woman, in no wise offended, for she pitied the old man. "If you want anything, jist stomp on the floor, and I'll hear ye, and come up."
"Yes," said Jacob, hastily. "Now go down—that's a good woman. I want to go to sleep."
"Poor craythur!" said Mrs. Flanagan, to herself. "It's little he enjoys the world, which is a blessin', as he will soon have to lave it."
"I hope she isn't looking through the keyhole," thought Jacob, in alarm. "She might see my money."
But the footsteps of the good woman descending the stairs came to his ears, and reassured him.
"It's well I locked the door," he said to himself. "I wouldn't want it known that I had all this money, or it wouldn't be safe. It's taken me a long time to get it, and it isn't quite a hundred dollars. If I had seventy-five cents more"—he had by this time found the missing quarter—"it would make just a hundred. If Tom wouldn't mind, I could get it easily by begging. I might have it by to-morrow. I wonder if he would care much," muttered the old man, as he put back the coins carefully into the tin box. "I—I think I'll go out a little while. He'll never know it."
By this time he had locked the box and replaced it beneath the flooring, restoring the plank to its original place.
"I'll lie down a little while till I feel strong," he muttered, "then I'll go out. If I go up on Broadway, Tom won't see me. He ought not to mind my begging. I am too weak to work, and it's the only way I can get money."
He lay down on the bed, and, after his exertion, small as it was, the rest was grateful to him. But the thought haunted him continually that he needed but seventy-five cents to make up his hoard to a hundred dollars, and the eager desire prompted him to forsake his rest and go out into the streets.
After awhile he rose from his bed.