“Rent day is near at hand,” said Mrs. Mordaunt anxiously.
“Yes, mother, I think we shall be ready.”
“I went to the clothing store to-day, Frank, and they told me that business was dull and they might not have any more for me to do for about four weeks.”
“Oh, well, we’ll try to get along, mother,” said Frank, with forced cheerfulness.
“It is such a contrast to our former way of living,” said his mother sadly.
“True. If father had not made such unwise investments we should manage very comfortably.”
“Doubtless he acted for the best, as he viewed it.”
“Don’t think I am blaming him, mother. But I’ll tell you what is tantalizing. We are heirs to a property of—how much is it?”
“Your cousin Edwin has ten thousand dollars a year. Should he die, this is to be divided between Basil Wentworth and our family.”
“I wouldn’t for the world have Edwin die, but if during his life he would give us one thousand dollars, or even half that sum, how much it would lighten our cares.”