Again the old gentleman wavered; and it was not until he had looked
Marcus Wilkeson straight in the eye, that he answered, striking the arm
of the chair with his thin white hand:

"Not one cent!"

The tumid cheeks assumed a sicklier white, and the small, offensive eyes
sparkled with a fiercer fury, as the son replied:

"Very well, sir. Be as stingy as you please. Take the advice of your new
friend here, and cut off my beggarly monthly allowance, too. But
remember, I must have money, and I will have it!"

Had Marcus Wilkeson not been present, the father might have been brought
to terms by this vague but dreadful threat. But now he shook his head,
as an intimation that nothing could move him.

"You have taken your own course, sir," continued the son, through his
closed teeth. "I shall take mine. Don't forget my last words. As for
you, sir," turning to Marcus Wilkeson, "we shall probably meet again."

Marcus urbanely responded that nothing could give him greater pleasure.
The son, darting a last malignant look at his father, whose face was
happily averted, strode out of the room, slamming the door, and
afterward the street door, with increased emphasis.

When he had gone, the father said to his visitor, feebly:

"Have I done right?"

"Precisely. Your conduct was firm, prudent, and will have a good
effect."

"I hope so--I hope so. But don't you think, now, I was a little too
severe--to begin with, I mean? I fear that my son will be driven to
crime; and that would kill me."

"I regard his threats as only empty words," replied Marcus. He has found
them useful heretofore, and he tries them now. Having learned that they
do not longer frighten you, he will never employ them again. That is one
point gained. If he is really bad enough to commit a crime for money,
your misjudged kindness will not prevent him, but will rather encourage
his evil disposition."

"There is truth in what you say," replied the old gentleman, faintly;
"but I--I--fear."

The protracted conversation, and the suppressed agony of the past few
minutes, were too much for the old gentleman to bear on his first day of
convalescence. He suddenly turned very pale, and his head drooped.
Marcus threw open a window, and held the cordial to his lips. As Marcus
was applying this restorative, without any perceptible benefit, the door
opened, and Mrs. Frump ran in, red in the face, and quite out of breath.

"Excuse me, sir. I am Mrs. Frump, Mr. Van Quintem