did. I went down to his office. He refused to see me at first, but
evidently thought it best to get the thing out of his system forever,
so he changed his mind and told the office boy to let me in. Well, my
son Geoffrey is a very important person now. He married a Maybrick,
you know, and he is a partner in old Maybrick's firm--steamship
agents. Geoffrey looked me over. He did it very thoroughly. I told him
I'd come to see if he couldn't do something toward helping me to die a
respectable, you might say comfortable death. He cut me off short.
Said he would give me a thousand dollars to leave New York and stay
away forever. I---"

"I trust you did not accept the money," cried Mr. Bingle in a shocked
voice.

"I'm pretty well down and out, Tom, but I'd sooner starve than to take
money from him in that way. So I told my son to go to the devil."

"Good for you!" cried Mr. Bingle. "And then what?"

"He is a humorous individual, that pompous son of mine," said old
Joseph, with a chuckle. "He said I ought to be ashamed of myself for
advising my own son to go to the devil in view of what a similar
excursion had done for me. I managed to subdue my temper--it's a bad
one, as you know--and put the matter up to him in plain terms. 'I am
your father, Geoffrey, when all is said and done. Are you going to
kick me out into the world when I've got no more than a month or two
to live? Are you going to allow my body to lie in the Potter's field?
Are you willing to allow this poor nephew of mine to take care of me,
to assume the responsibility of seeing that I get a decent burial in a
decent---'"