'em, an' has
sickness and doctor's bills at home. But I'll catch de thief yet, an'
when I do he'll wish he'd never know'd what a check was."

As he was walking down the street after supper, smoking a pipe and
thinking of his sick boy, who seemed to have grown worse since morning,
and of his lost checks, Monk Tooley was accosted by Derrick Sterling,
who said,

"Good-evening, Mr. Tooley. How's Bill this evening?"

"None de better fer your askin'," was the surly answer, for the man felt
very bitter against Derrick, to whom he attributed all his son's
trouble.

"I'm sorry to hear that he isn't any better," continued the boy,
determined not to be easily rebuffed.

"Well, I'm glad yer sorry, an' wish yer was sorrier."

This did not seem to promise a very pleasant conversation, but Derrick
persevered, saying,

"It must be very hard for Mrs. Tooley to keep so many children quiet,
and I believe the doctor said Bill must not be troubled by noise, didn't
he?"

"Yes, an' if ye'd muzzle yer own mouth de whole place would be quieter."

"My mother wanted me to say to you that if you'd like to send Bill over
to our house for a few days, it's so quiet over there that she thought
it would do him good, and she'd be very glad to have him," said Derrick,
plunging boldly into the business he had undertaken to manage.

"Tell yer mother ter mind her own brats an' leave me ter mind mine, den
de road'll be wide enough for de both of us," was the ungracious answer
made by the surly miner to this offer, as he turned away and left
Derrick standing angry and mortified behind him.

"That comes of trying to do unto others as you would have others do unto
you," he muttered to himself. "Seems to me the best way is to do unto
others as they do unto you, and then nobody can complain. I declare if I
had as ugly a temper as that man has I'd go and drown myself. I don't
believe he's got one spark of human feeling in him."

Monk Tooley was not quite so bad as Derrick thought him, but just at
that time everything seemed to go wrong with him, and he was like some
savage animal suffering from a pain for which it can find no relief. He
began to repent of his ugliness to Derrick almost as soon as the latter
had left him, saying to himself, "Maybe de lad meant kindly arter all."

Going back to his untidy, noisy home, he entered the house, and standing
by his son's bedside gazed curiously at him. The boy was evidently
growing worse each minute, as e