"No, Mr. Fogson, I don't think he did."
"He didn't make arrangements to run the poorhouse, with your help, did he?"
"No," answered Jed with emphasis.
"We ought to be thankful, Mrs. Fogson and I, humbly thankful, that we ain't to be turned out by this high and mighty doctor."
"If you don't like the doctor you had better tell him so," said Jed; "he don't need me to defend him."
"Do you know where I've been to-night?" queried Fogson, changing his tone.
"How could I tell?"
"I've been to see Squire Dixon."
"Well, sir, I suppose you had a right to. I hope you had a pleasant call."
"I did, and what's more, I told him of Dr. Redmond's impertinent interference with me in my management of the poorhouse. He told me not to pay any attention to Redmond, but to be guided by him. So long as he was satisfied with me, it was all right."
"You'd better tell Dr. Redmond that when he calls here next time."
"I shall; but there's something I've got to say to you. He said I had a perfect right to take the dollar from you, for as a pauper you had no right to hold property of any kind. That's what Squire Dixon says. Now hand over that money, or you'll get into trouble."
"I wouldn't give the money to Squire Dixon himself," answered Jed boldly.
"You wouldn't, hey? I'll tell him that. You'll give it to me to-night, though."
He put out his hand to seize Jed, but the boy quietly moved aside, and said, "You can't get the money from me to-night, Mr. Fogson."
"Why can't I? There's no Dr. Redmond to take your part now. Why can't I, I'd like to know?"
"Because I haven't got it."
"What!" exclaimed Fogson. "Do you mean to say you've spent it already? If you have–"
"No, I haven't spent it, but I have given it to Dr. Redmond to keep for me."
Fogson showed in his face his intense disappointment. He expected to get the money without fail, and lo! the victory was snatched from him.
He glared at Jed, and seemed about to pounce upon him, but he thought better of it.
"You'll go and get the money in the morning," he said. "You and Dr. Redmond are engaged in a conspiracy against the town and the laws, and I am not sure but I could have you both arrested. Mind, if that money is not handed to me to-morrow you will get a thrashing. Now go to bed!"
Jed was not sorry to avail himself of this permission. He had not enjoyed the interview with Mr. Fogson, and he felt tired and in need of rest. Accordingly he went up stairs to the attic, where there was a cot bed under the bare rafters, which he usually occupied. There had been another boy, three months before, who had shared the desolate room with him, but he had been bound out to a farmer, and now Jed was the sole occupant.
Tired as he was, he did not go to sleep immediately. He undressed himself slowly in the obscurity, for he was not allowed a lamp, and made a movement to get into bed.
But a surprise awaited him. His extended hand came in contact with a human face, and one on which there was a mustache. Somebody was in his bed!
Naturally, Jed was startled.
"Who are you?" he inquired.
"Who'm I? I'm a gentleman," was the drowsy reply.
"You're in my bed," said Jed, annoyed as well as surprised.
"Where is my bed?" hiccoughed the other.
"I don't know. How did you get in here?"
"I came in when no one was lookin'," answered the intruder. "Zis a hotel?"
"No; it's the Scranton poorhouse."
"You don't say? Dad always told me I'd end up in the poorhouse, but I didn't expect to get there so quick."
"You'd better get up and go down stairs. Fogson wouldn't like to have you stay here all night."
"Who's Fogson?"
"He is the manager of the poorhouse."
"Who cares for Fogson? I don't b'lieve Fogson is a gen'leman."
"Nor I," inwardly assented Jed.
This was the last word that he could get from the intruder, who coolly turned over and began to snore.
Fortunately for Jed, there was another cot bed—the one formerly occupied by the other boy—and he got into it.
Fatigued by the events of the day, Jed soon slept a sound and refreshing sleep. In fact his sleep was so sound that it is doubtful whether a thunderstorm would have awakened him.
Towards morning the occupant of the other bed turned in such a way as to lie on his back. This position, as my readers are probably aware, is conducive to heavy snoring, and the intruder availed himself of this to the utmost.
Mr. and Mrs. Fogson slept directly underneath, and after awhile, the door leading to the attic being open, the sound of the snoring attracted the attention of Mrs. Fogson.
"Simeon!" she said, shaking her recumbent husband.
"What is it, Mrs. F.?" inquired her lord and master drowsily.
"Did you hear that?"
"Did I hear what?"
"That terrific snoring. It is loud enough to wake the dead."
By this time Fogson was fairly awake.
"So it is," he assented. "Who is it?"
"Jed, of course. What possesses the boy to snore so?"
"Can't say, I'm sure. I never heard a boy of his age make such a noise."
"It must be stopped, Simeon. It can't be more than three o'clock, and if it continues I shan't sleep another wink."
"Well, go up and stop it."
"It is more suitable for you to go, Mr. Fogson. I do believe the boy is snoring out of spite."
Even Fogson laughed at this idea.
"He couldn't do that unless he snored when he was awake," he replied. "It isn't easy to snore when you are not asleep. If you don't believe it, try it."
"I am ashamed of you, Simeon. Do you think I would demean myself by any such low action? If that snoring isn't stopped right off I shall go into a fit."
"I wouldn't like to have you do that," said Fogson, rather amused. "It would be rather worse than hearing Jed snore."
About this time there was an unusual outburst on the part of the sleeper.
"A little hot water would fix him," said Fogson. "It is a pity you had not saved your hot water till to-night."
"Cold water would do just as well."
"So it would. Mrs. F., that's a bright idea. I owe the boy a grudge for giving his money to Dr. Redmond. I'll go down stairs and get a clipper of cold water, and I'll see if I can't stop the boy's noise."
Mr. Fogson went down stairs, chuckling, as he went, at the large joke he was intending to perpetrate. It would not be so bad as being scalded, but it would probably be very disagreeable to Jed to be roused from a sound sleep by a dash of cold water.
"I hope he won't wake up before I get there," thought Mr. Fogson, as he descended to the kitchen in his stocking feet to procure the water.
He pumped for a minute or two in order that the water might be colder, and then with the dipper in hand ascended two flights of stairs to the attic.
Up there it was still profoundly dark. There was but one window, and that was screened by a curtain. Moreover, it was very dark outside. Mr. Fogson, however, was not embarrassed, for he knew just where Jed's bed was situated, and, even if he had not, the loud snoring, which still continued, would have been sufficient to guide him to the place.
"It beats me how a boy