"What I say to my grandson, Tom, and what he says to me, is our own
business!" exclaimed the old gentleman in a passion, thumping the table
with his clenched hand. "And no one else has a right to hear it."
"I am so very sorry we heard it," said Polly, the colour which had
quite gone from her cheek now rushing back. "And we are going right
away, sir."
"You would much better," said the old man, nodding angrily. "And you,
boy, too; I suppose you think yourself better than my Tom. But you are
not--not a bit of it!" And suddenly he tried to start to his feet, but
lurched heavily against the table instead.
Polly and Jasper rushed over to him. "Lean on me, sir," said Jasper,
putting both arms around him, while Polly ran to his other side, he was
shaking so dreadfully.
The old gentleman essayed to wave them off. "Let me alone," he said
feebly; "I'm going after my grandson, Tom." His voice sank to a
whisper, and his head dropped to his breast. "He's got money--he's
always getting it, and I'm going to see what he's doing with it."
"Polly," said Jasper, "you help me put him back on the sofa; there,
that's it," as the old man sank feebly down against the cushions; "and
then I'll run and find his grandson."
It was just the time when everybody seemed to be in the state-rooms, or
out on deck in steamer chairs, so Polly sat there at the old man's
head, feeling as if every minute were an hour, and he kept gurgling,
"Tom's a bad boy--he gets money all the time, and I'm going to see what
he's doing with it," with feeble waves of his legs, that put Polly in a
fright lest he should roll off the sofa at every lurch of the steamer.
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