He shook his head.
“We’ve got nearly three hundred dollars in the bank.”
“There’s my life insurance next month; and I have to get a little ahead with the next payment on the house.”
“I wish we’d never saddled ourselves with this house,” she said equably. “We ought to be renters; free to flit.”
“I know,” said Wilfred; “but it’s fine for the children to have a fixed spot to grow in; a rock to fix their little tentacles to—or should it be on?”
“I dunno. . . . Anyhow, there are those two stories you sold in England.”
“They only pay on publication. It may be six months before we get the money.”
“It’s all right if we don’t spend it more than once. Borrow until it comes.”
He shook his head. “That would only be another worry.”
“Wilfred, you don’t take chances enough,” she said. “Really, you don’t. We always get along somehow.”