“Oh, how mean of him!” exclaimed Mrs. Morse.
“I don’t see how we are going to get it, Mother,” said Jess, worriedly.
“Well, that’s true. But we’ve got another month before we need to cross that bridge.”
That was Mrs. Morse’s way. Perhaps it was as well that she allowed such responsibilities to slip past her like water running off the feathers of a duck.
“And if Mr. Closewick shouldn’t want to—to trust us any longer, Mother?” suggested Jess. That was as near as she could get to telling the good lady what had really happened the night before.
“Why! that would be most mortifying. He won’t do it, though. But if he does, we’ll immediately begin trading elsewhere, I don’t really think Mr. Closewick always gives us good weight, at that!”
Jess could only sigh. It was always the way. Mrs. Morse saw things from a most surprising angle. She was just as honest—intentionally—as she could be, but the ethics of business dealing were not quite straight in her mind.
And something must be done this very day to put food in the larder. What little Jess had brought in from Mr. Vandergriff’s store would not last them over Sunday. And her mother seemed to think that everybody else would be just as sanguine of her getting a check as she was herself.
“I do wish you had been able to get steady work with the Courier,” spoke Jess, as she prepared to go out.
“That would have been nice,” admitted her mother. “And I am in a position to know a good deal of what goes on socially on the Hill. I am welcome in the homes of the very best people, for your father’s sake, Jess. He was a very fine man, indeed.”