n he read
this unpleasant missive.

"Thirty dollars!" he groaned. "What can the graceless boy be thinking
of, to fool away his money, and leave his bills to be settled by me. If
this keeps on, I shall be ruined! It's too bad, when I am slaving here,
for Eben to waste my substance on riotous living. I've a great mind to
disown him. Let him go his own way, and fetch up in the poorhouse, if he
chooses."

But it is not easy for a man to cast off an only son, even though he is
as poorly supplied with natural affections as Ebenezer Graham. Besides,
Eben's mother interceded for him, and the father, in bitterness of
spirit, was about to mail a registered letter to Mrs. Jones, when the
cause of his anguish suddenly made his appearance in the store.

"How are you, father?" he said, nonchalantly, taking a cigar from his
mouth. "Didn't expect to see me, did you?"

"What brings you here, Eben?" asked Mr. Graham, uneasily.

"Well, the cars brought me to Stockton, and I've walked the rest of the
way."

"I've heard of you," said his father, frowning. "I got a letter last
night from Mrs. Jones."

"She said she was going to write," said Eben, shrugging his shoulders.

"How came it," said his father, his voice trembling with anger, "that
you haven't paid your board bill for six weeks?"

"I didn't have the money," said Eben, with a composure which was
positively aggravating to his father.

"And why didn't you have the money? Your wages are ample to pay all your
expenses."

"It costs more money to live in Boston than you think for, father."

"Don't you get ten dollars a week, sir? At your age I got only seven,
and saved two dollars a week."

"You didn't live in Boston, father."

"I didn't smoke cigars," said his father, angrily, as he fixed his eye
on the one his son was smoking. "How much did you pay for that miserable
weed?"

"You're mistaken, father. It's a very good article. I paid eight dollars
a hundred."

"Eight dollars a hundred!" gasped Mr. Graham. "No wonder you can't pay
your board bill--I can't afford to spend my money on cigars."

"Oh, yes, you can, father, if you choose. Why, you're a rich man."

"A rich man!" repeated Mr. Graham, nervously. "It would take a rich man
to pay your bills. But you haven't told me why you have come home."

"I lost my situation, father--some meddlesome fellow told my employer
that I occasionally played a game of pool, and my tailor came to the
store and dunned me; so old Bog