Old Jerry felt outraged at Paul’s withholding money from him for deposit in the savings bank.

“The—the thieving young rascal!” he muttered to himself, indignantly. “He is putting my money into the bank, and letting me starve at home, while he lives on the fat of the land, and lays up money. Me that have taken care of him ever since he was a little boy, and—and cared for him like a father.”

Jerry had a curious idea of the way fathers care for their children, judging from his words. When Paul was only six years old, he had been sent into the streets to sell matches and papers, and, being a bright, winning boy, had earned considerably more, even at that tender age, than many older boys.

At times Jerry had induced him to beg, but it was only for a short time. Paul had a natural pride and independence that made him shrink from asking alms, as soon as he was old enough to understand the humiliation of it. So there was never a time when he had not earned his own living, and more besides. But Jerry chose to forget this, and to charge Paul with ingratitude, when he discovered that he had a private fund of his own.

“I must get hold of that money,” thought Jerry. “I wonder how much Paul has got.”

There was no way of finding out, unless he got hold of the book, or inquired at the bank. He decided to do the latter. Accordingly he went over to the bank, and entering it walked up to the receiving teller.

“Was there a boy named Paul Parton here just now?” he asked.

“Yes; what of it?”

“Did he put some money into the bank?”

“Yes.”

“How much was it?”

“We don’t give information about our depositors,” said the teller. “Is he your grandson?”

“Yes; that is, he lives with me.”

“You are a depositor also, are you not? I seem to remember your face.”

“Yes.”

“What is your name?”

“Jeremiah Barclay.”

“I remember now. Why do you want to know about this boy?”

“He ought to have given me the money, instead of putting it into the bank.”

“We have nothing to do with that. He did not steal it from you, I presume.”

“No,” answered Jerry, reluctantly. It occurred to him for an instant to claim that Paul had robbed him, but he was rather afraid that the telegraph boy would in that case become angry and leave him, and the sum he had in bank would not pay him for that.

The miser did not suspect that Paul had over five dollars laid up, having no knowledge of the handsome gift he had received from Mrs. Cunningham. But even if it were only five dollars, it was sufficient to excite Jerry’s cupidity, and he decided that he must manage to get possession of it.

“Then you won’t tell me how much money Paul has in the bank?”

“It is against our rules.”

Jerry felt that he was dismissed, and stumbled out of the bank, forgetting, in his thoughts about Paul, the business of his own which had brought him there.

But there was other business for Jerry to attend to that morning. We are about to let the reader into a secret, which he had hitherto kept from Paul.

Not far away was a small tenement house which Jerry hired and sublet to tenants. Every month he called to collect his rents, and the difference between the rent he paid for the whole building, and the rents he collected from the tenants, gave him a handsome profit.

It was not rent day, but there were two of the tenants in arrears. One was a laborer, temporarily out of work, and the other was a poor widow who went out scrubbing, but was now taken down with rheumatism, and therefore not able to work.

The old man ascended with painful toil to the third floor, and called on the widow first.

She turned pale when she saw him enter, for she knew his errand, and how little chance there was of softening him.

“I hope you have got the rent for me this morning, Mrs. O’Connor,” said Jerry, harshly.

“And where would I get it, Mr. Barclay?” she asked. “It’s very little work I can do on account of the sharp pains I have.”

“That’s none of my business,” said Jerry, in a harsh tone. “You will have to go, then.”

“And would you put me on the street, me and my poor childer?” said the poor woman, with a troubled look. “I’m afraid it’s the hard heart you have, Mr. Barclay.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Mrs. O’Connor,” said Jerry, sharply. “I can’t let you stay here for nothing. I—I’m very poor myself,” he added, with his customary whine.

“You poor!” repeated the widow, bitterly. “I’ve heard that you’re rolling in riches, Mr. Barclay.”

“Who—who says so?” asked Jerry, alarmed.

“Everybody says so.”

“Then you can tell ’em they’re very much mistaken.”

“What do you do with all the rent you get from this building, then?”

“I pay it away, that is, almost all of it. I don’t own the building. I—I hire it, and some months, on account of losses, I don’t make a cent,” asseverated Jerry. “I—I think I’m a little out take the year together.”

“Then why don’t you give it up if you don’t make any money out of it?”

“That—that is nothing to the purpose. Once more, Mrs. O’Connor, will you pay me my rent?”

“How can I when I have no money?”

“Then you must borrow it. I’ll give you till tomorrow, and not a day longer. Remember that, Mrs. O’Connor, will you not?”

Next Jerry visited the other tenant with rather better success, for he collected one dollar on account.

He waited eagerly for Paul to come home. He had made up his mind to explore Paul’s pockets after he was asleep and get possession of his bank book. With that, as he thought, he would go to the bank and draw the money that stood in Paul’s name. It would be a theft, but Jerry did not look at it in that light. He persuaded himself that he had a perfect right to take the property of the boy who was living under his guardianship, though, to speak properly, it was rather Paul that took care of him.

It was rather late in the evening when Paul got home, for every other evening he was employed. The old man was awake, but pretended to be asleep. Paul took off his coat and vest, and threw himself on the lounge, covering himself up with a quilt. His clothes he put on a chair alongside.

It was not long before he was sound asleep, being much fatigued with the labors of the day.

Old Jerry got up cautiously from the bed. He, too, was dressed, for he seldom took the trouble to undress, and cautiously drew near the lounge. He took up Paul’s coat, and threw his claw-like fingers into an inside pocket. His eyes sparkled with delight as he drew out the telegraph boy’s bank book.

“I’ve got it!” he muttered, gleefully. “Paul isn’t any match for the old man! I—I wonder how much money he has saved up!”

Paul slept on, unaware of the cunning old man’s treachery, and of the danger to which his little treasure was exposed.