“Mr. Petersen, too, I suppose,” Minnie asked with a frown, “I suppose we owe him money?”
“Dear me, child, he’s only too pleased to have someone living here. He told me so himself. He couldn’t rent this place to anyone else; he’d simply have to pay a caretaker.”
“Why did he buy it then?” enquired Frankie.
The subject was not pursued, however, for Minnie had got up, a little pale as her great minute approached.
“Now then, Grandma and Frankie,” she said, “here’s my plan. I want to take charge of the housekeeping and—and the money.... I’ll keep things going and try to pay off the debts.”
“Nonsense, child! What are you going to pay them off with? How far do you imagine——”
“I’ve found a boarder,” she said.
“A boarder!” they both cried, simultaneously.
“A literary gentleman,” she explained, “from New York. He’ll only pay eight dollars a week, but he’s a start, anyway.”
“But, my dear,” Frances objected, “where could you put him?”