"I mean that mother and I have engaged board at Mrs. Sprague's. We have just had supper there."
"You have! Well, that's a new start. It doesn't matter much, though. I'll go over and get mine."
"We haven't made any arrangements for you," said Grit. "I shall pay for mother's board and mine. You can make any bargain you like for your board."
"Well, if that isn't the meanest treatment I ever received!" exclaimed Brandon, in wrath and disgust. "You actually begrudge me the little I eat, and turn me adrift in the cold world!"
"That's one way of looking at it, Mr. Brandon," said Grit. "Here's the other: You are a strong man, in good health, and able to work. Most men in your position expect to support a family, but you come to live upon my earnings, and expect me not only to provide you with board, but with money for the purpose of drink. That isn't all! You bring home one of your disreputable companions, and expect us to provide for him, too. Now, I am willing to work for mother, and consider it a privilege to do so, but I can't do any more. If you don't choose to contribute to the support of the family, you must at least take care of yourself. I am not going to do it."
"How hard and unfeeling you are, Grit!" said Brandon, in the tone of a martyr. "After all I have suffered in the last five years you treat me like this."
"As to the last five years, Mr. Brandon," said Grit, "I should think you would hardly care to refer to them. It was certainly your own fault that you were not as free as I am."
"I was a victim of circumstances," whined Brandon.