Why, where should he be? if she is a widow, he must be either dead or in California; it is about all the same in New York.
"What did he die of?"
The same disease that kills nine-tenths of his class—rum!
"Oh, dear, and he such a fine young man. I would have married him myself, if it had not been for Charley. Well, I have one great blessing; if Charles is not so rich as Walter, he is as sober as a judge. Oh, I forgot to tell you that he is almost one; he is Justice of the Peace. But do tell me, did Walter leave her rich? The Morgans were very wealthy."
Ah, I see now; Athalia never told of their failure, and how all their wealth vanished like morning dew; that all those five dollar carpets, thousand dollar mirrors, and single chairs that cost more than all your neat furniture, were sold under the hammer to pay debts; and that Walter had not a cent in the world, and that he lived a long time upon the money which she earned, with,
"'Work, work, work.
From weary chime to chime,'
Through many a day and many a night,
'As prisoners work for crime;'
until she sighed and sung:
"'Oh, for only one short hour,
To feel as I used to feel,
Before I knew the woes of want,
And the walk that costs a meal.'"
"And did Walter do nothing?"
What could he do? He knew nothing—had never learned to do anything; besides that, how could he take to any occupation, when he had always been above work, and free from want. If his father had put him into his counting-room with old Precision, he might have been a good bookkeeper, and could now have had employment upon a salary. As it was, he was a useless, worthless member of society. His father had been asked, if he did not think of putting Walter into some situation where he would learn to help himself, but his answer was, "that is my business;" and there ended the matter.