George Dawkins’s reflections were not of the most cheerful character as, leaving Duval, he slowly pursued his way homeward.  He felt that he had fallen into the power of an unscrupulous villain, who would have no mercy upon him.  He execrated his own folly, without which all the machination of Duval would have been without effect.

The question now, however, was, to raise the money.  He knew of no one to whom he could apply except his father, nor did he have much hope from that quarter.  Still, he would make the effort.

Reaching home he found his father seated in the library.  He looked up from the evening paper as George entered.

“Only half-past nine,” he said, with an air of sarcasm.  “You spend your evenings out so systematically that your early return surprises me.  How is it?  Has the theater begun to lose its charm!”

There was no great sympathy between father and son, and if either felt affection for the other, it was never manifested.  Mutual recrimination was the rule between them, and George would now have made an angry answer but that he had a favor to ask, and felt it politic to be conciliatory.

“If I had supposed you cared for my society, sir, I would have remained at home oftener.”

“Umph!” was the only reply elicited from his father.

“However, there was a good reason for my not going to the theater to-night.”

“Indeed!”

“I had no money.”

“Your explanation is quite satisfactory,” said his father, with a slight sneer.  “I sympathize in your disappointment.”

“There is no occasion, sir,” said George, good humoredly, for him.  “I had no great desire to go.”

Dawkins took down a book from the library and tried to read, but without much success.  His thoughts continually recurred to his pecuniary embarrassments, and the debt which he owed to Duval seemed to hang like a millstone around his neck.  How should he approach his father on the subject?  In his present humor he feared he would have little chance.

As his father laid down the newspaper Dawkins said, “Wouldn’t you like a game of checkers, sir?”

This, as he well knew, was a favorite game with his father.

“I don’t know but I should,” said Mr. Dawkins, more graciously than was his wont.

The checker-board was brought, and the two commenced playing.  Three games were played all of which his father won.  This appeared to put him in a good humor, for as the two ceased playing, he drew a ten-dollar-bill from his pocket-book, and handed to his son, with the remark, “There, George, I don’t want you to be penniless.  You are a little extravagant, though, I think.  Your pay from Mr. Danforth ought to keep you in spending money.”

“Yes, sir, I have been rather extravagant, but I am going to reform.”

“I am very glad to hear it.”

“I wish, sir,” said George a moment afterwards, “that you would allow me to buy my own clothes.”