"Who told you my name?" he asked.
"Then your name is Cook?"
"What is your object in asking?" said the man, suspiciously.
"I mean you no harm," returned Carl, "but I have reasons for asking."
"Did you ever see me before?" asked the man.
"No."
"Then what makes you think my name is Cook?
It is not written on my face, is it?"
"No."
"Then how----"
Carl interrupted him.
"I know a boy named Peter Cook," he said,
"who resembles you very strongly."
"You know Peter Cook--little Peter?"
exclaimed the tramp.
"Yes. Is he a relation of yours?"
"I should think so!" responded Cook,
emphatically. "He is my own son--that is,
if he is a boy of about your age."
"Yes."
"Where is he? Is his mother alive?"
"Your wife!" exclaimed Carl, overwhelmed
at the thought.
"She was my wife!" said Cook, "but while
I was in California, some years since, she took
possession of my small property, procured a
divorce through an unprincipled lawyer,
and I returned to find myself without wife,
child or money. Wasn't that a mean trick?"
"I think it was."
"Can you tell me where she is?" asked Cook, eagerly.
"Yes, I can."
"Where can I find my wife?" asked Cook, with much eagerness.
Carl hesitated. He did not like his stepmother;
he felt that she had treated him meanly,
but he was not prepared to reveal her
present residence till he knew what course
Cook intended to pursue.
"She is married again," he said, watching
Cook to see what effect this announcement
might have upon him.
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