ked himself.

"It is natural for you to take the most favorable view of the matter,"
he said; "but your hope is hardly likely to be realized. Good-morning."

Mrs. Barton looked after him, and her spirit rose in revolt against the
inequalities of fortune. Here was the real criminal, as she fully
believed--rich, prosperous, enjoying a high social position, while her
poor husband, the scapegoat for another's offense, was an exile from
home.

The next day Squire Marlowe went to New York on business. He
occasionally visited Wall Street, and now and then made an investment.
He looked the embodiment of dignity and respectability, with his ample
figure, fine broadcloth suit, and gold-rimmed eyeglasses, and might
readily have been taken for a prosperous and wealthy city banker.

About one o'clock he entered an expensive restaurant, a stone's throw
from Broadway, and taking up the bill of fare made a selection of dishes
for his dinner. As he did so, he said to himself, with a comfortable
smile: "When I was a common workman in a shoe shop, how little did I
think that I should ever be able to sit down in a restaurant like this,
and pay a dollar and a half for my dinner. Why, I didn't earn much more
than that by a day's labor. Here I am surrounded by brokers, bankers,
and wealthy merchants, and quite as good as they."

The thought led Squire Marlowe to look around him. What he saw almost
paralyzed him with surprise. There--at a neighboring table--sat Uncle
Jacob, enjoying a luxurious dinner, the cost of which the squire, with
the bill of fare before him, estimated must come to a high figure.

"Can that be Uncle Jacob?" Albert Marlowe asked himself in amazement.
"How on earth can a clerk on twelve dollars a week salary afford to dine
at a restaurant like this?"

As he had not yet given his order, he moved over to the table occupied
by Uncle Jacob, and took a seat opposite him.

"Albert Marlowe!" exclaimed the old man, recognizing him with surprise.

"Yes, Uncle Jacob, it is I. But what on earth brings you here?"

"I should think it was pretty evident," said Jacob Marlowe with a smile,
"I came in for my dinner."

"Yes, but do you usually come here?"

"Not always--perhaps half the time. I make my heartiest meal of the day
at this time--unlike most New Yorkers--and like it to be a good one."

"Of course, but--how can you afford to eat here? Didn't you say that
your salary was twelve dollars a week?"

"I think I said so."