“When that went there was but one thing left that could go.”
“Not your bed?”
“The bedstead; yes.”
“You didn’t sell your bed, Mrs. Richling?”
The tears gushed from her eyes. She made a sign of assent.
“But then,” she resumed, “we made an excellent arrangement with a good woman who had just lost her husband, and wanted to live cheaply, too.”
“What amuses you, madam?”
“Nothing great. But I wish you knew her. She’s funny. Well, so we moved down-town again. Didn’t cost much to move.”
She would smile a little in spite of him.
“And then?” said he, stirring impatiently and leaning forward. “What then?”