He was a
wretched and a penitent man; a few days ago he had confessed everything to
his wife, and besought her to pardon him; at present he was making
desperate efforts to recover an honest footing. The business might still be
carried on if some one could be induced to put a little capital into it;
with that in view, Bowles had gone to see certain relatives of his in the
north. If his hope failed, she did not know what was before them; they had
nothing left now but their clothing and the furniture of one or two rooms.
'Would you like to come back home for a while?' asked Mr. Lott abruptly.
'No, father,' was the not less abrupt reply. 'I couldn't do that.'
'I'll give no money to Bowles.'
'He has never asked you, and never will.'
Mr. Lott glared and glowered, but, with all that, had something in his face
which hinted softness. The dialogue did not continue much longer; it ended
with a promise from Mrs. Bowles to let her father know whether her husband
succeeded or not in re-establishing himself. Thereupon they shook hands
without a word, and Mr. Lott left the house. He returned to the City, and,
it being now nearly two o'clock, made a hearty meal. When he was in the
street again, he remembered the birthday present he wished to buy for his
nephew, and for half an hour he rambled vaguely, staring into shop-windows.
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