He had few expectations from the Memphis letter; yet there was a most surprising result from it on the way, something which by no possibility could the little family in the Amity Street cottage have suspected.
Chapter IV. SWEEPING CLEAN
“My goodness me!” ejaculated Bess Harley. “Talk about the 'leaden wings of Time.' Why! Time sweeps by us on electrically-driven, ball-bearing pinions. Here's another week gone, Nan, and tomorrow's Saturday.”
“Yes,” Nan agreed. “Time flies all too quickly, for me, anyway. The mills have been closed a week now.”
“Oh, dear! That's all I hear,” complained Bess. “Those tiresome old mills. Our Maggie's sister was crying in the kitchen last night because her Mike couldn't get a job now the mills were closed, and was drinking up all the money they had saved. That's what the mill-hands do; their money goes to the saloon-keepers!”
“The proportion of their income spent by the laboring class for alcoholic beverages is smaller by considerable than that spent by the well-to-do for similar poison!” quoted Nan decisively. “Mike is desperate, I suppose, poor fellow!”
“My goodness me!” cried Bess again. “You are most exasperating, Nan Sherwood. Mike's case has nothing to do with political Economy, and I do wish you'd drop that study out of school——”
“I have!” gasped Nan, for just then her books slipped from her strap; “and history, rhetoric, and philosophical readings along with it,” and she proceeded cheerfully to pick up the several books mentioned.
“You can't mean,” Bess said, still severely, “that you won't go to Lakeview with me, Nan?”