Then his hat, and shaking his head indignantly at Pompilard, followed her out of the room. The front door was heard to open and close. there was a slight creaking on the basement stairs, followed by a coughing from Angelica, and a minute afterwards she re-entered the parlour. She found her father with his fists doubled, and his breast thrown back, knocking down an imaginary Irishman in dumb show. "Has that brute left the house?" he asked. "Yes, father. What did he want?” "He has been dunning me to borrow a couple of thousand dollars of him-the improvident old fool. He needs every cent of his money in his business. He knows it. He merely wants to put me under an obligation, knowing I may never pay him back. He can't dupe me." "If 'twould gratify poor Maloney, why not humour him?" said Angelica. "He feels eternally grateful to you for having made a man of him. You helped him to a fortune. He has often said he owed it to you that he wasn't a sot about the streets." “If I helped him to a fortune, I showed him how to lose it, Jelly. So there we're just even. I tell you I won't get in debt again, if I can help it. You, Jelly, are the only one I've borrowed from since the last great crash." "And in borrowing from me, you merely take back your own," interposed Angelica. "I've paid everything in the way of a debt, principal and interest," said Pompilard. "And I don't want to break the charm again at my time of life. Debt is the Devil's own snare. I know it from sad experience. I've two good schemes on foot for retrieving my affairs, without having to risk much money in the operation. If you can let me have five hundred dollars, I think 'twill be the only nest-egg I shall need." 66 Certainly, father," said Angelica; and going down-stairs into the basement, she found the persevering Maloney waiting her coming. "Mr. Maloney," said she, "let me propose a compromise. My father wants five hundred. dollars of me. I haven't it to give him. But if you'll lend it on my receipt, I'll take it and be very thankful." "Make it a thousand, and I'll say yes," said Pat. "Well, I'll not haggle with you, Mr. Maloney," replied Angelica. Maloney handed her the money, and, refusing to take a receipt, seized his hat, and quitted the house by the back area, looking round suspiciously, and snuffing contemptuously at the surroundings, as he emerged into the alley-way which conducted him to one of the streets leading into the Bowery. Angelica put five hundred dollars in her portmonnaie, and handed the like amount to her sire. He thrust it into his vest-pocket, brushed his hat, and arranged his choker. Mrs. Pompilard came down with the Prospectus that was to be the etymon of a new fortune. He took it, kissed wife and daughter, and issued from the house. As he passed up Lavinia Street, many a curious from behind curtains and blinds looked out admiringly on the imposing figure. One boy on the side-walk remarked to another: "I say, Ike, who is that old swell as has come into our street? I've a mind to shy this dead kitten at him." eye "Don't do it, Peter Craig!" exclaimed Ike; "father says that man's a detective-a feller as sees you when you think he ain't looking. We'd better mind how we call arter him again, ‘Old blow-hard!""" 225 CHAPTER X. A DOMESTIC RECONNOISSANCE. O Spirit of the Summer time! W. Allingham. THE following Wednesday, Pompilard returned rather earlier than usual from his diurnal visit to Wall Street. He brought home a printed copy of the Prospectus, and sent it upstairs to the wounded author. Then taking from the bookcase a yellow-covered pamphlet, he composed himself in an arm-chair, and, resting his legs on an ottoman, began reading that most thrilling production of the season, "The Guerilla's Bride, or the Temptation and the Triumph, by Carrie Cameron." Mrs. Pompilard glided into the room, and, putting her hands over his eyes from behind, said, "What's the matter, my love?" "Matter? Nothing, wife! Leave me to my novel." 66 Always of late,” she replied, “when I see you with one of these sensation novels, I know that something has gone wrong with you." "Nonsense, you silly woman! I know what you want. It's a kiss. There! Take it and go." "You've lost money!" said Madam, receiving the kiss, then shaking her finger at him, and returning to her household tasks. She was right in her surmise. Pompilard, hopeful of Union victories on the Peninsula of Virginia, had been selling gold in expectation of a fall. There had been a large rise, and his five hundred dollars had been swallowed up in the great maw of Wall Street like a straw in Niagara. He passed the rest of that day in the house, reading his novel, or playing backgammon with the Major. The next morning, putting the Prospectus and his pride with it in his pocket, he issued forth, resolved to see what could be done in furtherance of the grand literary scheme which was to immortalise and enrich his son-in-law. Entering Broad |