"That's right, old girl. Blame it on me. I'm always the one that's in the wrong in this house. If Master Teddy lets a glass fall and breaks it, as he did last night, I pushed it out of his hand on purpose, though I'm in the next room. All the same, I say, 'Buck up,' and I don't care who says different. Sniffing won't cure your feet or give you a brother like Fred Inglis who can pay for a woman to do all the heavy work, and his mother hardly lifting a hand."
Teddy passed on to the kitchen to see if his mother was there.
She was seated at a table with a ham bone before her, and from it was paring the last rags of the meat. He tried to take his old-time tone of gayety.
"Hello, ma! At it again? What are you giving us for supper? Something good, I'll bet."
Lizzie went on working without lifting her eyes. She didn't even smile. Teddy sensed something new in the way of care, as Pansy had sensed it in him. He stood at a little distance, waiting for the look that had never failed to welcome him, but which this time didn't come.
"What's the matter, ma? Has anything gone wrong?"
Putting down the ham, Lizzie raised her eyes, though with no light in them.
"It's nothing so very wrong, dear, but I haven't told your sisters because it's no use to worry them if—"
"What is it, ma? Out with it."
She told him. If it was necessary to go without a hot meal between Wednesday and Saturday, of course it could be done; but even on Saturday the gas people would demand fifteen dollars on account before the gas would be turned on again. There were just two possibilities: The father might come home with the news that he had found a job, or Teddy might have—she didn't believe it, but he had talked of saving for a new suit of clothes—Teddy might have fifteen dollars laid away.