Hank had never been told of Poacher's adventure, but his attention wandered to the dog, and he absently stroked his head.
"You've done the old man a lot of good," he said at last.
"I—no, sir," said 'Tilda Jane, earnestly. "I guess it's the dogs. But he wants more good done to him. He's in a regular slouch of despond sometimes, Mr. Hank."
"Is he?" said the young man, listlessly; "what's he desponding about?"
"About money, Mr. Hank. He lost some in the street, and never got it back—then it costs something to keep me and the dogs. I feel dreadful about it. I try to eat jus' as little as possible, but I'm as hungry as a bear mos' all the time."
Hank's attention was aroused. "You must not stent yourself, sissy. This is too bad. I'm to blame. I've been intending to send you some money, but I've had a run of bad luck."
His face was so disturbed that 'Tilda Jane made haste to change the subject.
"Oh, I'm so worked up to see you—I'm perfectly 'tossicated. I feel jus' like the teakettle afore it boils, an' that 'minds me—I mus' go set it on. You mus' be starvin'."
"No, I ain't hungry; I haven't had an appetite for a week. How much did father lose?"