“Think of your son, and of his situation.”
“It's before me—I know it is—to die like a dog behind a ditch wid hunger!”
“Think of your son, I say, and, if possible, save him from a shameful death.”
“What! Ay—yis—yis—surely—surely—oh, my poor boy—my innocent boy—I will—I will do it.”
He then sat down, and, with a tremulous hand, and lips tightly drawn together, wrote an order on P——, the county treasurer, for the money.
Cassidy, on seeing it, looked alternately at the paper and the man for a considerable time.
“Is P——your banker?” he asked.
“Every penny that I'm worth he has.”
“Then you're a ruined man,” he replied, with cool emphasis. “P—— absconded the day before yesterday, and robbed half the county. Have you no loose cash at home?”
“Robbed! who robbed?”