your income, judging from your scarecrow appearance. So much the worse for you. You might have got some good from it. Now it must go to others."
"To others!" exclaimed Peter, turning pale.
"Certainly. You don't think the law gives you whatever you've a mind to steal, do you? Of course there is no doubt that to your tenants, Eleanor and Charlie Codman, belongs this property which you wrongfully hold."
"They sha'n't have it. They never shall have it," said Peter Manson, hastily.
"Well, perhaps the law may have something to say about that."
"My gold!" groaned the miser. "If I lose that I lose everything. It will be my death. Good Mr. Randall, have pity upon me. I am sure you won't say anything that–"
"Will bring you to state's prison," said Randall, coolly.
"They—Eleanor and her son—need never know it."
"Unless I tell them."
"But you won't."
"That depends upon circumstances. How much will you give me to keep the thing secret?"
"What will I give you?"
"Precisely. That is what I have been so long in coming at. You see, Peter, that the secret is worth something. Either I reveal it to the parties interested, in which case I wouldn't give that," snapping his fingers, "for your chance of retaining the property, or I keep silence if you make it worth my while."
"Pity me," said the miser, abjectly, sinking on his knees before Randall; "pity me and spare my gold."
"Pity you!" said Randall, contemptuously. "Why didn't you pity your employer? You must make up your mind to pay me my price."
"I am very poor," whined Peter, in his customary phrase, "and I can't pay much."
"Oh yes, Peter," said the other, sarcastically, "I am well aware that you are poor,—wretchedly poor,—and I won't be too hard upon you."
"Thank you—thank you," said Peter, catching at this promise; "I will give you something—a little–"
"How much?" asked Randall, with some curiosity.
"Ten dollars!" said the miser, with the air of a man who named a large sum.
"Ten dollars!" returned Randall, with a laugh of derision. "Ten dollars to secure the peaceable possession of thirty thousand! Old man, you must be mad, or you must think that I am."
"I—I did not mean to offend," said the old man, humbly. "If I double the sum will it satisfy you? I—I will try to raise it, though it will be hard—very hard."
"This is mere trifling, Peter Manson," said his visitor, decidedly. "Twenty dollars! Why I wouldn't have come across the street to get it. No, you will have to elevate your ideas considerably."
"How much do you demand?" said the miser, groaning internally, and fixing his eyes anxiously upon Randall.
"You must not make a fuss when I name the amount."
"Name it," said Peter, in a choking voice.
"One thousand dollars will purchase my silence, and not a dollar less."
Peter sprang from his seat in consternation.
"One thousand dollars! Surely you are not in earnest."
"But I am, though. This is not a subject I care to jest upon."
"One thousand dollars! It will take all I have and leave me a beggar."
"If it should, Peter," said his visitor, composedly, "I will procure you admission to the poor-house, where, if I am not much mistaken you will be better off than in this tumble-down old shanty."
"Has the man no mercy?" groaned Peter, wringing his hands.
"None at all."
"Then," exclaimed the miser, in a sudden fit of desperation, "I won't pay you a cent—not a single cent."
"That is your final determination, is it?"
"Ye—yes," muttered Peter, but less firmly.
"Very well. I will tell you the result. I shall at once go to Eleanor, and inform her of the good fortune which awaits her. No fear but she will pay me a thousand dollars for the intelligence."
"She has no money."
"I will furnish her with money for the lawyers—she can repay me out of your hoards."
Peter groaned.
"Ay, groan away, Peter. You'll have cause enough to groan, by and by. There is one thing you don't seem to consider, that the law will do something more than take away your property. I will come to see you in jail."
He rose to leave the room, but Peter called him back hastily. "We may come to terms yet," he said.
"Then you accede to my terms."
"I will give you five hundred."
"Good-night, Peter. I wish you happy dreams."
"St-stay!" exclaimed Peter, terrified. "I will give eight hundred."
"I am in something of a hurry," said Randall. "I believe I will call on Eleanor. I don't think we can make any arrangement."
"Hold! perhaps I will do as you say."
"Ah! now you are beginning to be reasonable," said Randall, resuming his seat.
"What security can you give me for your silence?"
"I'll tell you what I will do, Peter. You remember I told you Eleanor had a son, a boy of fourteen."
"Yes."
"His mother is quite devoted to him. Indeed, he contributes to her support by selling papers, and by various little jobs. Now, as long as Eleanor lives here you are in danger."
"Yes."
"And if a blow is levelled at her it must be through her boy."
"I see."
"Then I'll tell you of a scheme I have arranged. You must first know that I am mate of a vessel now in port, which is bound for San Francisco. We are to sail in a few days."
"Well?"
"We happen to be in want of a boy to fill up our regular number. Suppose I kidnap Eleanor's boy. Don't you see, that as he is her chief support, she will soon be in difficulties? and this, with her uncertainty about her boy's fate, may rid you of your greatest peril, and the only one of the two who could identify you."
"Excellent, excellent!" chuckled Peter, rubbing his hands; "she shall yet be sorry that she rejected old Peter."
"Am I to understand that you accede to my proposal, then?"
Not without many groans Peter agreed to deliver the sum mentioned between them, on condition that the boy was secured.
It was striking
