Besides, Eben's mother interceded for him, and the father, in
bitterness of spirit, was about to mail a registered letter to Mrs.
Jones, when the cause of his anguish suddenly made his appearance in
the store.

"How are you, father?" he said, nonchalantly, taking a cigar from
his mouth. "Didn't expect to see me, did you?"

"What brings you here, Eben?" asked Mr. Graham, uneasily.

"Well, the cars brought me to Stockton, and I've walked the rest of
the way."

"I've heard of you," said his father, frowning. "I got a letter last
night from Mrs. Jones."

"She said she was going to write," said Eben, shrugging his
shoulders.

"How came it," said his father, his voice trembling with anger,
"that you haven't paid your board bill for six weeks?"

"I didn't have the money," said Eben, with a composure which was
positively aggravating to his father.

"And why didn't you have the money? Your wages are ample to pay all
your expenses."

"It costs more money to live in Boston than you think for, father."