“Yes, Frank,” sighed Mrs. Mordaunt.
“Do you know where Basil is?”
“He may be in New York.”
“And you have an uncle who is rich?”
“Yes; Henry Anderson.”
“They cannot know how poor we are.”
“No, Frank. I shrink from letting them know. I don’t want to be considered a beggar.”
“Nor I, mother. Yet if I were in their places and had poor relations, I am sure I should want to relieve them.”
“Yes, Frank, but all are not alike. I am afraid we shall receive little outside aid.”
Three days later the landlord called for the rent. In spite of all they could do they had been unable to make up the necessary amount. It was a dollar short.