“If you do that, you may as well go in for Buns.”
“Buns! I thought you scorned the idea!”
“Principally because I want you to be an inventor. But if you give up your life work,—oh, Rick, what could you do?”
“Nothing much at first. I’d have to take a clerk-ship or something and work up.”
“I’m willing to share poverty with you,—in theory,—but you don’t realize what the reality would mean to us. Not only because we’re both accustomed to having everything we want, but more especially because in these days it’s too dangerous. Suppose we lived on the tiniest possible income, and then you fell ill,—or I did,—or you lost your position,—or anything that interrupted our livelihood,—then, we’d have to go back to mother or to your aunt,—and—dost like the picture?”
“I dost not! It’s out of the question. I love you too much, and too truly to take such desperate chances. I think, after all, Dork, the Buns are our one best bet!”
“Binny’s Buns! ‘Get a Bun!’ Oh, Rikki, couldn’t hold up my head!”
“I know it,—you little inborn aristocrat! And I feel the same way about it. Well, we’ve got to go home and face the music, I suppose.”
“Yes, and we’ve got to go now. I’ll get more and worse scolding for every minute I stay here.”
“Also, if Eliza tells your mother, she’ll be sending Kate for you.”