saloon, sells papers in the evenings, and makes himself generally useful."
"Has he any education?"
"Well, I haven't sent him to boarding school or college," answered Tim. "He don't know no Greek, or Latin, or mathematics--phew, that's a hard word. You didn't tell me you wanted him made a scholar of."
"I didn't. I wanted never to see or hear from him again. What made you bring him back to New York?"
"Couldn't keep away, governor. I got homesick, I did. There ain't but one Bowery in the world, and I hankered after that----"
"Didn't I pay you money to keep away, Tim Bolton?"
"I don't deny it; but what's three thousand dollars? Why, the kid's cost me more than that. I've had the care of him for fourteen years, and it's only about two hundred a year."
"You have broken your promise to me!" said Curtis, sternly.
"There's worse things than breaking your promise," retorted Bolton.
Scarcely had he spoken than a change came over his face, and he stared open-