“I really must pay all my smaller debts, mother,” said Dick, as he looked down at the forged check. “You don’t know what a mean hound I’ve felt in not being able to pay the smaller tradesmen, for they are more decent than the bigger people. Five thousand! Only think of it. What a brick the old man is, after all.”
“How much do your debts amount to, Dick?” asked Mrs. Swinton, in some trepidation.
“I hardly know; but the ones which must be paid before I go will amount to a good many hundreds, I fear.”
“Oh, Dick! I’m sorry, but need all be paid now? You see, the money is badly wanted for other things.”
“Well, mother, I might not come back. I might be killed. And I’d like to feel that I’d left all straight at home.”
“Don’t, Dick, don’t!” she sobbed, rising and flinging her arms about him.
She was much overwrought, and her tears fell 78 fast. Dick embraced his beautiful mother, and kissed her with an affection that was almost lover-like.
“Mother, I really must pay up everyone before I go. You see, some of them look upon it as their last chance. They think that, if I once get out of the country, I shall never come back.”
“But I was hoping to help your father. He’s getting quite white with worry. Have you noticed how he has aged lately?”
“I don’t wonder at it, mother. Look at the way he works, writing half the night, tearing all over the town during the day, doing the work of six men. If you could manage another fifteen hundred for me, mother, I could go away happy. Don’t cry. You see, if I shouldn’t come back—you’ve got Netty.”