"If so, my father is very ill, as you doubtless know, and I would take pleasure in receiving the money on his behalf." Timothy Hinman, looking wholly the man of fashion, made this offer.
He had come up behind the group, and there was a look in his eyes which seemed to say that the handling of some of the family money would not be distasteful to him just then.
"I'll walk along with you to your office, Mr.Stark, and receipt for the money, if you're headed that way," suggested the younger Hinman again.
"Unless you hold a regular power of attorney from your father, you could hardly give me a valid receipt," replied the lawyer sourly, as he turned away from Mr.Hartshorn and the boys and started down the street.
"Won't my receipt do until my father is up and about once more ?" pressed Timothy Hinman.
"No, sir; it won't," snapped the lawyer.
"Have you heard, this morning, how your father is ?" Dick inquired.
"Just heard, at the post-office," Hinman answered.

"My father had a very bad day yesterday.

Er---in fact, the chances, I am sorry to say, appear to be very much against his recovery." "He must feel the strain of his father's illness," observed Dave sarcastically.
"He does!" retorted Mr.Hartshorn, with emphasis.

"If old Reuben dies young Timothy must go to work for a living.

The disgrace of toil will almost kill him.