"You would prepare no meals at home, and Mr. Brandon would be starved out. While he can live upon us, and raise money to buy liquor at the tavern, there is little chance of getting rid of him."
"I don't know, Grit. It seems a harsh thing to do."
"But consider the circumstances, mother. We can't allow him to continue annoying us as he has done."
"Do as you think best, Grit."
"Then I will go over to Mrs. Sprague's and ask if she will take us for a few days. That will probably be sufficient."
Going down-stairs, Grit saw his stepfather still lying on the floor. Grit's step aroused him, and he lifted his head.
"'S'that you Grit?" he asked, in thick accents.
"Yes, sir."
"Where's my frien' Travers?"
"He's gone."