"On a letter of credit?"
"Pa perfectly despises that word 'credit.'"
Loveland gave up hope of winning confidence and obtaining dollars from Alexander the Great. "This state of things is enough to make a man blow his brains out!" he exclaimed.
"I guess you need your brains now more than you ever did," suggested Bill. "And you couldn't git 'em put back where they belonged, if everything come right directly they was out. What I think of, when them ideas get to workin' in my head, is the awful long time you have to stay dead, whether you're suited or not. It's a lot easier to pawn your dress clothes, and see what turns up."
Before Loveland could answer Isidora clapped her pretty hands, which were much cleaner than usual since P. Gordon had come into her daily life.
"Don't pawn 'em!" she cried. "That's made me think of something. Pa's always talkin' about visible assets, or somethin' like that. Well, your dress suit might be a visible asset if—if you're really sick of life when you can't pay your way. But are you dead sure you are sick of it?"
"Dead sure!" echoed Loveland. "What have you thought of for me to do?"
"You won't be mad if I tell you?"
"What nonsense! Am I in a position to be 'mad'?—in the sense you mean—though it's a wonder I'm not mad in another sense. I'd sweep crossings if I could get the job—or break stones—if anyone wanted them broken. But I suppose you're not going to suggest one of these employments, as evening clothes wouldn't be suitable to either."
"I was thinking," said Isidora, "that—I might tease Pa to take you in—in Dutchy's place, if—you'd care about it?"