"SOPHIA: I have received your letter, and am surprised that you
should expect me to help support you. You are my brother's widow, it
is true, but your destitution is no fault of mine. My brother was
always shiftless and unpractical, and to such men good luck never
comes. He might at any rate have insured his life, and so made
comfortable provision for you. You cannot expect me to repair his
negligence. You say you have two boys, one eleven years of age. He
is certainly able to earn money by selling papers or tending an
office.
"As for myself, I am not a rich man, but have always been careful to
meet my expenses and provide for the future. I, too, have a son,
Conrad, whom I think it my duty to educate and start in life. Any
money I might send you would be so much taken from him. I advise you
to apply to some charitable society if you need temporary
assistance. It will be much better than to write me begging letters.
Yours truly,
"PHILEMON CARTER."
"This is a very cold-blooded letter," said Andy, indignantly. "He might at least have inclosed a five-dollar bill."
"He inclosed nothing. I shall never apply to him again."
"Philemon Carter is considered to be one of the richest men in Arden. He is taxed for twenty-five thousand dollars, and is probably worth double that sum. People wonder where he got all his money."
"A part of it is my husband's rightful share of the estate, I have no doubt."
"Can you do nothing about it?"
"How can I? I am poor and have no influential friends. He denies everything."
"I will think of that, Mrs. Carter. I know a lawyer down town who may some time look into the matter for you. In the meanwhile, is there any special work you can do?"
"Before I was married I was for a time a typewriter."
"I will see if I can hear of a situation of that kind. The lawyer I spoke of may require an operator."