"Um, ah! I thought perhaps you might earn something else."
"Sometimes I earn as high as a dollar and a half a week making shirts."
Mr. Talbot thought it best to drop the subject.
"I am deeply sorry for you," he said. "It is a pity your husband didn't insure his life. He might have left you in comfort."
"He did make application for insurance, but his lungs were already diseased, and the application was refused."
"I may be able to help you—in a small way, of course," proceeded Solon Talbot.
Mark looked up in surprise. Was it possible that his close-fisted uncle was offering to assist them.
Mrs. Mason did not answer, but waited for developments.
"I have already paid you seventy-five dollars from your father's estate," resumed Mr. Talbot. "Strictly speaking, it is all you are entitled to. But I feel for your position, and—and your natural disappointment, and I feel prompted to make it a hundred dollars by paying you twenty-five dollars more. I have drafted a simple receipt here, which I will get you to sign, and then I will hand you the money."
He drew from his wallet a narrow slip of paper, on which was written this form: