“I did n't expect he had. He looks like a ragamuffin, poor boy. Who do you expect to do your chores when you have n't got him?”
“I will, myself. I would anyway. A saint ought to.”
“Well, I don't know what a saint ought or oughtn't, but a boarding-house-keeper has to get supper the same one day as another,” said Susan meaningly, “and now's when I begin, so I won't keep you any longer than need be. You get that money every first of the month, don't you?”
“Every fifteenth,” said Harvey, taking up his hat.
“All right. If you ain't here with a share of it every sixteenth you'll hear from me and mighty dear hearing, too,” said Susan. “If you want to say good-bye to Lem you can go out the front way.”
Harvey went toward the kitchen door.
“It might set him off cryin',” he said. “That would n't be no use. Well, so long, Susan.”
“Good-bye,” she said, turning her back on him to look at her cookies.
Harvey went out. Any twinge of conscience he might have had because he was leaving Lem was made less by the combined thought that Lem would be well cared for by Susan and that it would be a great relief not to have to worry about him. From now on he could give his time and his mind entirely to the job of being a saint, with nothing to annoy him.
As he walked down the hill he considered the saint business from all sides. He walked more rapidly than was his custom, for he was eager to get home and begin being a saint. He meant to be gentle and kind, saying no harsh word, avoiding anger and profanity, eating little and drinking only pure, sparkling water, dressing simply and doing good in a noble, unobtrusive way.