Her first act as whip was to write a long letter to Aunt Clara.
David, not guessing that the reins had been transferred to Shirley's hands—not guessing, in fact, that they had ever been out of Shirley's hands—was trudging listlessly, not to his office, but to Jim Blaisdell's bank. His note fell due that day.
"Same old story," he told Jim. "I'd like to renew, if you don't mind."
Jim fingered the note thoughtfully.
"Davy," he said at last, "don't you think it's about time to clean this up? It's been running a good while."
David flushed and his head went up. "Of course, if you'd rather not indorse—"
"Don't be a fool, Davy. It isn't that. There's nothing Mrs. Jim and I wouldn't do for you and Shirley, and you know it. What I mean is, debt's a bad habit. It grows on you and you get to a point where it doesn't worry you as it ought. And it leads to other bad habits—living beyond one's means, and so on."
David's prideful pose collapsed suddenly. "I know," he said wearily. "I'd like to clean this note up. It worries me quite enough. But the fact is—the fact is, I'm strapped and can't. We've been living from hand to mouth for a good while. And it begins to look"—David's laugh went to Jim's heart—"as if both hand and mouth would be empty soon."
"It's really as bad as that?"
"Worse than that."