“Doubtless,” said Godfrey, roaring with laughter, “I wish, Tony, we could change fathers.”

A reproachful look from Algernon, and a flash from the calm dark eyes of Anthony, checked the immoral levity of his cousin, who, stepping briskly up to the table, continued—­

“Give me a pen, and I will give you a few hints on the subject.”

“This is too serious a business for mirth, Godfrey,” said Anthony, gravely.  “I did not love him once—­I was a child.  He was harsh and cold, and I was ignorant of the sacred nature of those ties that bound us together.  Time has wrought a great change in me; perhaps it may have done the same in him.  I am anxious to feel for him a deeper interest—­to pity his unfortunate malady, and cherish in my heart the duty and affection of a son.”

“Ah!  Tony, Tony, you begin to know the value of the shiners, to tremble lest old skinflint Pike should cut you out of daddy’s will.  But come, let me write the dutiful letter that is to reinstate you in the miser’s good graces.  Shall it be in verse or prose?  What, silent yet?  Well then, here goes.”  And with an air of mock gravity he took up a pen, and commenced reading every line aloud as he went on—­

    “Dear stingy dad, I long to share
      The keeping of your hoarded treasure;
    You, I know, have lots to spare,
    And I, your hopeful son and heir,
      Would spend it with the greatest pleasure.

    Oh, thou most devoted father
      Fill your chest—­hide well the key
    Countless wealth for me you gather,
    And I selfishly would rather
      You should starve and save than me.

    Must I—­must I, still dependent,
    On another’s bounty live—­”

“What do you mean by that, sir?” cried Algernon in sudden anger, although hitherto much amused by his son’s rattling nonsense.  He saw the blush of shame burn on the cheeks of Anthony, and the tears of wounded pride fill his eyes.

“I meant no offence,” said Godfrey, abashed by the unusual severity of the Colonel’s look and tone.  “What I said was only intended to make you both laugh.”

“I forgive him,” murmured the indignant heart-humbled lad.  “He has given me another motive to write to my father.”

“My dear Tony, never mind his folly.”  But Anthony was already in the solitude of his own chamber.

How often had he borne that taunt from Godfrey!  How often had he been told before boys whom he esteemed and loved at school, and whose good opinion he was desirous to retain, that he was dependent upon the bounty of Colonel Hurdlestone, though the only son and heir of the rich miser; and that he was as selfish and mean-spirited as his father to submit to such degradation!  And he had marked the sarcastic smile, the lifted shoulder, and the meaning glance that passed from boy to boy, and the galling chain of dependence had entered into his soul.