“How old is he?”
“James must be nigh upon thirty,” answered Jerry, after a little reflection. “You won’t hire too expensive a room, Paul?” he added. “You know we are poor, very poor!”
“Not unless I am willing to pay the extra cost myself.”
“Don’t do that! Give me the extra money, Paul,” said Jerry, with eager cupidity. “I—I find it hard to get along with two dollars and a half a week.”
“You forget, Jerry,” said Paul, coldly, “that I must have my meals. I can’t live without eating.”
“You eat too much, Paul, I’ve long thought so. It’s hurtful to eat too much. It’s—it’s bad for the health.”
“I’ll take the risk,” said Paul, with a short laugh. “I am not afraid of dying of gout, Jerry, with my present bill of fare.”
“If you wouldn’t mind my going out a few hours every day, and asking kind gentlemen to help me, Paul, we—we could get along better.”
“I won’t hear of it, Jerry,” said Paul, sternly. “If I hear of your going out to beg I will leave you and go off and live by myself. Then there will be no two dollars and a half coming to you every week.”
“No, no, don’t leave me, Paul,” said Jerry, thoroughly alarmed by this threat. “I won’t go out if you don’t want me to, though it’s very, very foolish to stay in, when there are so many kind gentlemen and ladies ready to give money to old Jerry.”