Chapter 9

A NEW DEPARTURE.

Whatever good Mr. Raffles Haw's wealth did to the world, there could be
no doubt that there were cases where it did harm. The very
contemplation and thought of it had upon many a disturbing and
mischievous effect. Especially was this the case with the old gunmaker.
From being merely a querulous and grasping man, he had now become
bitter, brooding, and dangerous. Week by week, as he saw the tide of
wealth flow as it were through his very house without being able to
divert the smallest rill to nourish his own fortunes, he became more
wolfish and more hungry-eyed. He spoke less of his own wrongs, but he
brooded more, and would stand for hours on Tamfield Hill looking down at
the great palace beneath, as a thirst-stricken man might gaze at the
desert mirage.

He had worked, and peeped, and pried, too, until there were points upon
which he knew more than either his son or his daughter.

"I suppose that you still don't know where your friend gets his money?"
he remarked to Robert one morning, as they walked together through the
village.

"No, father, I do not. I only know that he spends it very well."

"Well!" snarled the old man. "Yes, very well! He has helped every
tramp and slut and worthless vagabond over the countryside, but he will
not advance a pound, even on the best security, to help a respectable
business man to fight against misfortune."

"My dear father, I really cannot argue with you about it," said Robert.
"I have already told you more than once what I think. Mr. Haw's object
is to help those who are destitute. He looks upon us as his equals, and
would not presume to patronise us, or to act as if we could not help
ourselves. It would be a humiliation to us to take his money."

"Pshaw! Besides, it is only a question of an advance, and advances are
made every day among business men. How can you talk such nonsense,
Robert?"

Early as it was, his son could see from his excited, quarrelsome manner
that the old man had been drinking. The habit had grown upon him of
late, and it was seldom now that he was entirely sober.

"Mr. Raffles Haw is the best judge," said Robert coldly. "If he earns
the money, he has a right to spend it as he likes."

"And how does he earn it? You don't know, Robert. You don't know that
you aren't aiding and abetting a felony when you help him to fritter it
away. Was ever so much money earned in an honest fashion? I tell you
there never was. I tell you, also, that lumps of gold are no more to
that man than chunks of coal to the miners over yonder. He could
build his house of them and think nothing of it."

"I