"How did you father get possession of it?"
"There was a man he took care of in his sickness, who gave it to him out of gratitude."
Robert Ferguson shrugged his shoulders.
"It would have been better if he had given him the same number of dollars," he said.
"Then you don't think it worth as much as that?"
"No, I don't."
Fred looked disappointed. In their darkest days, he and his mother had always thought of this land as likely some time to bring them handsomely out of their troubles, and make a modest provision for their comfort. Now there seemed to be an end to this hope.
"I would have sent your mother word before," said Robert Ferguson, "but as the news was bad I thought it would keep. I don't see what possessed your father to go out to Colorado."
"He was doing poorly here, and some one recommended him to try his chances at the West."
"Well, he did a foolish thing. If a man improves his opportunities here he needn't wander away from home to earn a living. That's my view."
"Then," said Fred slowly, "you don't think the land of any value?"
"No, I don't. Of course I am sorry for your disappointment, and I am going to show it. Let your mother make over to me all claim to this land, and I will give her twenty-five dollars."
"That isn't much," said Fred soberly.
"No, it isn't much, but it's better than nothing, and I shall lose by my bargain."
Fred sat in silence thinking over this proposal. The land was the only property his poor father had left, and to sell it for twenty-five dollars seemed like parting with a birthright for a mess of pottage.
On the other hand twenty-five dollars would be of great service to them under present circumstances.
"I don't know what to say," he answered slowly.
"Oh, well, it is your lookout. I only made the offer as a personal favor."
Mr. Ferguson resumed the perusal of his paper, and thus implied that the interview was over.
"Cousin Ferguson," said Fred, with an effort, "our rent is due to-day, and we are a little short of the money to meet it. Could you lend me three dollars till Saturday night?"
"No," answered Robert Ferguson coldly. "I don't approve of borrowing money. As a matter of principle I decline to lend. But if your mother agrees to sell the land she shall have twenty-five dollars at once."
Fred rose with a heavy heart.
"I will tell mother what you propose," he said. "Good evening!"
"Good evening!" rejoined Mr. Ferguson without raising his eyes from the paper.
"Twenty-five dollars would be very acceptable just now," said Mrs. Fenton thoughtfully, when Fred reported the offer of his rich relative.
"But it wouldn't last long, mother."
"It would do us good while it lasted."
"You are right there, mother, but I have no doubt the land is worth a good deal more."
"What makes you think so? Cousin Ferguson——"
"Wouldn't have made the offer he did if he hadn't thought so, too."
"He might have done it to help us."
"He isn't that kind of a man. No, mother, it is for our interest to hold on to the land till we know more about it."
"How shall we manage about the rent?"
Fred looked troubled.
"Something may turn up to-morrow. When the landlord comes, ask him to come again at eight o'clock, when I shall be home."
"Very well, Fred."
Mrs. Fenton was so much in the habit of trusting to her son that she dismissed the matter with less anxiety than Fred felt. He knew very well that trusting for something to turn up is a precarious dependence, but there seemed nothing better to do.
CHAPTER IV. — ZEBULON MACK.
At twelve that day the landlord, Zebulon Mack, presented himself promptly at the door of Mrs. Fenton's room.
He was a small, thin, wrinkled man, whose suit would have been refused as a gift by the average tramp, yet he had an income of four thousand dollars a year from rents. He was now sixty years of age. At twenty-one he was working for eight dollars a week, and saving three-fifths of that. By slow degrees he had made himself rich, but in so doing he had denied himself all but the barest necessaries. What he expected to do with his money, as he was a bachelor with no near relatives, was a mystery, and he had probably formed no definite ideas himself. But it was his great enjoyment to see his hoards annually increasing, and he had no mercy for needy or unfortunate tenants who found themselves unable to pay their rent promptly.
Mrs. Fenton opened the door with a troubled look.
"I've come for that other three dollars, ma'am," said Zebulon Mack, standing on the threshold.
"I'm very sorry, sir——" began the widow.
"What! haven't you got the money?" snarled Mack, screwing up his features into a frown that made him look even more unprepossessing.
"My son Fred will be paid on Saturday night, and then——"
"Saturday night won't do. Didn't you promise it to-day?"
"Yes; and Fred tried to get an advance, but could not."
"Where is he working?"
"On the Erie road."
"Most likely he spends all his money for beer and cigarettes. I know him. He looks like it."
"You are very much mistaken, sir," said Mrs. Fenton, indignantly.
"Oh, you think so, of course," sneered the landlord. "Mothers don't know much about their boys, nor fathers either. I am glad I haven't a son."
"I wouldn't be your son for a million dollars," said little Albert, who resented the allusion to his big brother.
"Hey?" snarled Mack, opening his mouth and showing his tobacco-stained tusks. "What business has a whipper-snapper like you to put in your oar?"
"I ain't a whipper-snapper!" retorted Albert, who did not know the meaning of the word, but concluded that it was not complimentary.
"Well, ma'am, what are you going to do? I can't stay here all day."
"Fred thought he would have the money by to-night. He asked if you would call round after he got home."
"When is that?"
"He generally gets home at seven o'clock."
"Then I'll be here at seven, but if you haven't the money, then out you go! Do you hear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then mind you remember it. With so many swindling tenants a landlord has a hard time."
He shambled off, and Mrs. Fenton breathed a sigh of temporary relief. All the afternoon she felt troubled and anxious, and her anxiety increased as the hours wore away.
"If Fred should be late as he sometimes is," she said to Bertie about six o'clock, "I am afraid Mr. Mack will carry out his threat and turn us out on the street."
"I won't let him," said Albert manfully.
"We can't help it," said Mrs. Fenton. "Do you think you could