"Ask Mr. Muller to trust us till Saturday night, when you get your week's salary."
Harold took his hat and went downstairs.
The grocery store was kept by a stout, good natured German named Muller. It was a small place, but Herr Muller did a thriving trade.
Harold entered the store and preferred his request.
"And how is your poor father, Harold?" asked the grocer.
"He is in a good deal of pain from rheumatism, Mr. Muller."
"That is too bad. And how is business with him?"
"Very poor," answered Harold, soberly.
"That is bad. How much does he charge now for a portrait?"