“Four cents!” exclaimed the landlady, shrilly; “do you mean to insult me?”
“I don’t feel much like insulting anybody,” said Mr. Talbot, wearily.
“Once more, do you intend to pay me my rent or not?” demanded the virago.
“I can’t at present. In time—”
“Stuff and nonsense!—then out you budge to-day. I can’t afford to keep you here for nothing.”
“O Mrs. Flanders,” pleaded Emma, in terror. “It will kill my father to go out, sick as he is. Let us stay here a little longer.”
“It won’t do,” said the woman; “I’m not so soft as that comes to. If you won’t pay the rent, you must budge.”
Gilbert had listened to this dialogue with mingled pain and indignation. It was his first practical acquaintance with poverty and the world’s inhumanity. He could remain silent no longer.
“How much is your bill, madam?” he asked.
“Rent for four weeks, at a dollar a week,—four dollars.”