Mr. Brandon ate with evident enjoyment. Indeed, it was so short a time since he had been restricted to prison fare that he relished the plain but well-cooked dishes which his wife prepared.
"Another cup of tea, Mrs. Brandon," he said. "It seems pleasant to be at home again after my long absence."
"I shouldn't think he would like to refer to his imprisonment," thought Grit.
"I hope soon to be in business," continued Brandon, "and we shall then be able to live in better style. When that time comes I shall be willing to have Grit retain his small earnings, stipulating only that he shall buy his own clothes, and pay his mother, say a dollar and a quarter a week, for board."
He said this with the air of a man who considered himself liberal, but neither Grit nor his mother expressed their sense of his generosity.
"Of course, just at present," Mr. Brandon proceeded, "I have no money. The minions of the law took from me all I had when they unjustly thrust me into a foul dungeon. For a time, therefore, I shall be compelled to accept Grit's earnings, but it will not be for long."
Grit said nothing to this hint, but all the same he determined, whether for a short or a long time, to resist the exactions of his stepfather.
As for Brandon, his change of front was induced by the thought that he could accomplish by stratagem what he might have had some difficulty in securing by force. He still had twenty-five cents of the dollar which his wife had given him in the morning.
When supper was over he rose, and, putting on his hat, said: