"You haven't given him much else," retorted his wife.
"I've heard enough of that; now shut up," said the fisherman roughly.
"What have you got for breakfast?"
Mrs. Trafton pointed to the table, on which, while her husband had been speaking, she had placed his breakfast.
"Humph!" said he discontentedly, "that's a pretty poor breakfast!"
"It is the best I can give you," said his wife coldly.
"I don't care for tea. I'd as soon drink slops."
"What do you prefer?"
"I prefer coffee."
"I have none in the house. If you will bring me home some from the store, I will make you a cup every morning, but I don't think you would like it without milk."
"Do you think I am made of money? How do you expect me to buy coffee?"
"With the money you would otherwise spend for drink."
"Stop that, will you?" said Trafton angrily. "I'm tired of it."
A moment later he said in a milder tone:
"When I get that money of Robert's I will buy a pound of coffee."
Mrs. Trafton said nothing.
"Do you know where he has hidden it?" asked her husband after drinking a cup of the tea which he had so decried.
"No."
"Didn't he tell you where he was going to put it?"
"No."
"You are sure he didn't give it to you to keep?"
"I am very glad he didn't."
"Why are you glad?"
"Because you would have teased me till you got it."
"And I'll have it yet, Mrs. Trafton – do you hear that?" said the fisherman fiercely.
"Yes, I hear you."
"You may as well make up your mind that I am in earnest. What! am I to be defied by a weak woman and a half-grown boy? You don't know me, Mrs. T."
"I do know you only too well, Mr. Trafton. It was an unlucky day when I married you."
"Humph! There may be two sides to that story. Well, I'm going."
"Where are you going? Shall you go out in the boat this morning?"
"Oh, you expect me to spend all my time working for my support, do you?
No, I am not going out in the boat. I am going to the village."
"To the tavern, I suppose?"
"And suppose I am going to the tavern," repeated the fisherman in a defiant tone, "have you got anything to say against it?"
"I have a great deal to say, but it won't do any good."
"That's where you are right."
John Trafton left the cabin, but he did not immediately take the road to the village.
First of all he thought he would look round a little and see if he could not discover the hiding place of the little sum which his nephew had concealed.
He walked about the cabin in various directions, examining carefully to see if anywhere the ground had been disturbed.
In one or two places he thought he detected signs of disturbance, and, bending over, scooped up the loose dirt, but, fortunately for our hero, he was on a false scent and discovered nothing.
He was not a very patient man, and the fresh disappointment – for his hopes had been raised in each case – made him still more angry.
"The young rascal!" he muttered. "He deserves to be flogged for giving me so much trouble."
From the window of the cabin Mrs. Trafton saw what her husband was about and she was very much afraid he would succeed. She could not help – painful as it was – regarding with contempt a man who would stoop to such pitiful means to obtain money to gratify his diseased appetite.
"If I thought my wife knew where this money is I'd have it out of her," muttered the fisherman with a dark look at the cabin, "but likely the boy didn't tell her. I'll have to have some dealings with him shortly. He shall learn that he cannot defy me."
John Trafton, giving up the search, took his way to the village, and, as a matter of course, started directly for the tavern.
He entered the barroom and called for a drink.
Mr. Jones did not show his usual alacrity in waiting upon him.
"Trafton," said he, "where is that dollar you promised to pay me this morning?"
"Haven't got it," answered the fisherman, rather embarrassed. "I'll bring it to-morrow morning."
"Then to-morrow morning you may call for a drink."
"You ain't going back on me, Mr. Jones?" asked John Trafton in alarm.
"You are going back on me, as I look at it. You promised to bring me a dollar and you haven't done it."
"I'll tell you how it is, Mr. Jones. My nephew, Robert, has the money, but he was gone when I woke up this morning. I shall see him to-night and give you the money."
"You needn't wait till then. I saw Robert pass here only half an hour ago. He's somewhere in the village. Find him and get the money and then I'll talk with you."
There was no appeal from this decision and Trafton, angry and sullen, left the tavern to look for Robert.
CHAPTER VIII
ROBERT BECOMES A PRISONER
One of the most tasteful houses in Cook's Harbor was occupied in summer by the family of Theodore Irving, a Boston lawyer, who liked to have his wife and children in the country, though his business required him to spend a part of the hot season in the city.
The oldest son, Herbert, was about a year younger than Robert, a lively boy, fond of manly sports and thoroughly democratic in his tastes. He had scraped acquaintance with our hero, making the first advances, for Robert was not disposed to intrude his company where he was not sure it would be acceptable.
When Robert came to the village to avoid meeting his uncle. In passing by the house of Mr. Irving he attracted the attention of Herbert, who was sitting on the edge of the piazza.
With him was another boy of about his own age, a cousin named George Randolph. He had come to Cook's Harbor to spend a fortnight with his cousin, but the latter soon found that George was very hard to entertain.
He was seldom willing to engage in any amusement selected by his cousin, but always had some plan of his own to propose. Moreover, he was proud of his social position and always looked down upon boys whose dress indicated a humbler rank than his own.
The two cousins were sitting on the piazza doing nothing. Herbert had proposed croquet, but George pronounced it too warm. He also declined ball for a similar reason.
"It seems to me you are very much afraid of the sun," said Herbert.
"I don't care to get tanned up. It looks vulgar," said George.
"I like to have a good time, even if I do get browned up," said his cousin.
"Then I don't agree with you," said George in a superior tone.
Just then Robert was seen approaching.
"There's a boy that will play with me," said Herbert, brightening up.
"What boy?"
"There – the one that is just coming along."
"That boy? Why, he isn't dressed as well as our coachman's son!"
"I can't help that; he's a nice fellow. Bob, come here; I want you."
"You surely are not going to invite that common boy into the yard?" protested George hastily.
"Why