They say Ernie has
several thousand dollars in a bank in New York, every nickel of which
Dick stole for 'im. Dick spends 'is own share freely, or gives it away
for charity, or--ahem! lends it to needy persons as 'appens to know
'im."
"Poor fellow! What a life! What is to become of him?" cried David,
genuinely concerned.
"Oh, he's got all that set down in 'is book of fate, as he calls it.
He says he's going to be 'anged some day. He's just as sure of it as
he's sure he's alive."
"Just a morbid notion."
"Well, it's his antecedents, as the feller would say. In the family,
so to speak. His father was 'anged for murder when Dick was eleven
years old. I daresay it's got on 'is mind, poor lad."
"His father was hanged?" cried David, in a lowered tone. A swift
shudder swept over him.
"He was," said Joey, refilling his pipe and preparing to scratch a
sulphur match on his bandy leg. "And a good job it was, too. He was a
'ousebreaker, and he 'ad a wery gentle wife who prayed for 'im every
night and tried to get 'im to give up the life on account of the
children. One night he got drunk and shot a perfectly 'elpless old man
whose 'ouse he was robbing.
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