"Oh, yes! So you've said twenty times," remarked Frank Slade, in a sneering, insolent manner.
Edward Hargrove had not the spirit to resent this; he only answered:
"Just let him show himself here to-night, and you will see."
"No, we won't see," sneered Frank.
"Wouldn't it be fun!" was exclaimed. "I hope to be on hand, should it ever come off."
"He's as 'fraid as death of the old chap," laughed a sottish-looking man, whose age ought to have inspired him with some respect for the relation between father and son, and doubtless would, had not a long course of drinking and familiarity with debasing associates blunted his moral sense.
"Now for it!" I heard uttered, in a quick, delighted voice. "Now for fun! Spunk up to him, Ned! Never say die!"
I turned toward the door, and there stood the father of Edward Hargrove. How well I
