“No, but you’d ought to have thought of that before. It’s too late now!”
“You won’t turn us out on the street, will you, Mr. Jones?”
“Haven’t I given you three days to stay? If you want my advice, I should say that you’d find a good, comfortable home in the poorhouse. Your boy there might be bound out to a farmer.”
“I don’t know any farmer that wants a boy,” said Robert meekly.
“I’d take you myself,” said Nahum Jones, “if you wasn’t so impudent. I’m afraid you’re a little too airy for me.”
“Wouldn’t you let the house to me, Mr. Jones?” asked the widow. “It’s worth a good deal more than the face of the mortgage.”
“You couldn’t get a dollar more, in my opinion,” said the landlord. “As to takin’ you for a tenant, I haven’t any assurance that you could pay the rent.”
“What rent do you want for it, Mr. Jones?”
“Five dollars a month.”
“Five dollars a month, when you say it’s only worth two hundred dollars!”