“Ah! old England! I’ll never see it again. I feel that. But tell me,”—he started up again, with a return of the excited look—“is father any better?”
“N–no, not exactly—but he is no worse. I’ll tell you all about everything if you will only lie down again and keep silent.”
The invalid once more lay back, closed his eyes and listened, while his friend related to him all that he knew about his family affairs, and the kindness of old Jacob Crossley, who had not only befriended them when in great distress, but had furnished the money to enable him, Charlie, to visit these outlandish regions for the express purpose of rescuing Shank from all his troubles and dangers.
At this point the invalid interrupted him with an anxious look.
“Have you the money with you?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Because,” returned Shank, with something of a groan, “you are in a den of thieves!”
“I know it, my boy,” returned Charlie, with a smile, “and so, for better security, I have given it in charge to our old chum, Ralph Ritson.”