away! Go away!" cried the terrified old woman wildly.
"I want to have a little talk with you first, aunt," said Jack, drawing the only other chair in the room in front of Mrs. Mack and sitting down on it. "You're my only relation, and we ought to have an understanding. Why, you can't live more than a year or two – at your age."
"What do you mean?" said Mrs Mack angrily. "I'm good for ten years. I'm only seventy-seven."
"You're living on borrowed time, Aunt Jane, you know that yourself. You've lived seven years beyond the regular term, and you can't live much longer."
"Go away! Go away!" said the terrified old woman, really alarmed at her nephew's prediction. "I don't want to have anything to do with you."
"Don't forget that I'm your heir."
"I can leave my money as I please – not that I've got much to leave."
"You mean you'll make a will? Well, go ahead and do it. There was a man I know made a will and he died the next day."
This shot struck home, for the old woman really had a superstitious dread of making a will.
"You're a terrible man!" she moaned. "You scare me."
"Come, aunt, be reasonable. You can leave part of your money away from me if you like, but I want you to help me now. I'm hard up. Do you see this nickel?" and he drew one from his vest pocket.
"Yes."
"Well, it's all the money I've got. Why, I haven't eaten anything to-day, and I have no money to pay for a bed."
"I – I haven't any supper for you."
"I don't want any here. I wouldn't care to board with you, Aunt Jane. Why, I should soon become a bag of bones like yourself. I don't believe you've got five cents' worth of provisions in the room."
"There's half a loaf of bread in the closet."
"Let me take a look at it."
He strode to the closet and opened the door. On a shelf he saw half a loaf of bread, dry and stale. He took it in his hand, laughing.
"Why, that bread is three days' old," he said. "Where's your butter?"
"I – I don't eat butter. It's too high!"
"And you don't care to live high!" said Jack, laughing at his own joke. "I don't care to rob you of this bread, Aunt Jane. It's too rich for my blood. Don't you ever eat anything else?"
"Sometimes," she answered, hesitating.
"I'd rather take my supper at the cheapest restaurant on the Bowery. What I want is money."
Mrs. Mack uttered a little cry of alarm.
"Oh, don't go into a fit, aunt! I only want a little, just to get along till I can find work. Give me twenty-five dollars, and I won't come near you again for a month. I swear it."
"Twenty-five dollars!" ejaculated Mrs. Mack in dismay. "Do you think I am made of money?"
"I don't take you for an Astor or a Vanderbilt, Aunt Jane, but you've got a tidy lot of money somewhere – that I am sure of. I shouldn't wonder if you had five thousand dollars. Now where do you keep it?"
"Have you taken leave of your senses?" asked the old woman sharply. "No, I haven't, but it looks to me as if you had. But I can't waste my time here all night. I'm your only relative, and it's your duty to help me. Will you let me have twenty-five dollars or not?"
"No, I won't," answered Mrs. Mack angrily.
"Then I'll take the liberty of helping myself if I can find where you keep your hoards."
Jack Minton jumped up from his chair and went at once to a cheap bureau, which, however, was probably the most valuable article in the room, and pulling out the top drawer, began to rummage about among the contents. Then it was that Mrs. Mack uttered the piercing shriek referred to at the end of the last chapter, and her nephew, tramping across the floor, seized her roughly by the shoulder.
"What do you mean by this noise, you old fool?" he demanded roughly.
"Help! Murder! Thieves!" screamed the old woman.
Then the door opened, and Mark Mason burst into the room, followed by Tom Trotter.
"What's the matter, Mrs. Mack?" asked Mark.
"This man is going to rob me," answered the old woman. "Oh, save me!"
"It's a lie!" said Jack Minton. "Just ask this woman who I am. She knows."
"Who is he, Mrs. Mack?"
"It is my nephew, Jack Minton. He – "
"Do you hear that? I'm her nephew, come in to make her a call after a long time."
"What are you doing to her?" demanded Mark suspiciously.
"Trying to stop her infernal racket. You'd think I was murdering her by the way she goes on."
"What made you scream, Mrs. Mack?"
"Because he – he was going to rob me."
"How is that?" demanded Mark sternly.
"None of your business, kid! You ain't no call to interfere between me and my aunt."
"I have if she asks me to."
"He was at my bureau drawers. He told me I must give him twenty-five dollars."
"Supposing I did? It's the least you can do for your own nephew that hasn't a cent to bless himself with."
"Oh, take him away, Mark! He'll rob me first and murder me afterwards, and I'm his mother's only sister."
"You see she admits it. She's rolling in money – "
"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Mack, throwing up her hands. "You know I'm poor, Mark Mason."
"No, I don't, Mrs. Mack. I think you've got all the money you need, but you have a right to keep it if you want to. Mr. Minton, you had better leave the room. Your aunt is evidently afraid of you, and, old as she is, your staying here may make her sick."
"It ain't much use living, the way she is. Aunt Jane, I ask you again will you lend me twenty-five dollars?"
"No, no!"
"Will you lend me five dollars?"
"No."
"Are you going to turn your own nephew out into the street without a cent to buy food or pay for a bed?"
He glowered at his aunt so fiercely as he said this that Mark was afraid he might strangle her.
"Mrs. Mack," he said, "you had better give him something if he is in so much need. Since he is really your nephew, you might give him a dollar on condition that he won't trouble you again."
After long persuasion the old woman was induced to do this, though she declared that it would leave her destitute, and send her to the poor-house.
"Now,
