“Waal, I’ll tell ef I must,” he muttered at last, “an’, after all, I don’t much keer, fer Tom’s behaved mighty mean tew me. I let him hev the money when he went tew New York that time, an’ I reckon he lost it in some of them hocus-pocus games—I don’t know what they call ’em, it’s ‘bunco,’ or sumthin’! Anyhow, he lost the money, an’ come home with a satchel full of worthless green paper, an’ it’s nat’ral thet neither on us wanted tew say much about it, excep’ I had tew tell Sile, ’cause he took the mor’gage.”
Mrs. Marlowe stared at her husband in breathless interest while he was talking. In the height of her indignation she had never dreamed that he was such a sinner.
As for Marion, her first thought was one of disgust; then, the picture of her gawky brother-in-law being “buncoed” by sharpers rose before her mental vision, and, in spite of herself, she burst out laughing.
“So you were a ‘green goods’ victim, dad!” she cried, hysterically. “You thought, by mortgaging the farm, you’d get rich in a minute! Oh, it’s no wonder that city people think we country folks are green! That’s why they never lose a chance of imposing upon us!”
“Waal, it’s did, an’ thet’s all there is about it,” said her father, dolefully, “an’ it’s me an’ yewr mother thet’s got ter bear the brunt. Yew an’ Dollie air free, an’ yew look prosperous, Marion.”
The old man was weakening very rapidly now. He was fast becoming meek and submissive in his manner.
“We’ve had an awful struggle,” was Marion’s slow answer. “We’ve been without money and almost without friends, but Dollie has got a position as typewriter in view, and when I get back I’m to be a nurse. I’ve got a letter in my pocket this minute accepting my application.”
Her parents stared at her curiously, so Marion went on. She was glad to see that they took an interest in what she was telling them.
“Yes, I applied for a dozen or more positions during the first few weeks I was in New York, and this morning, just as I was coming away, I got my first acceptance. I’m to go to Charity Hospital, on Blackwell’s Island, as soon as I go back, and I’m just crazy to begin, for I know I will like nursing.”
“But I tho’t yew wanted to be a singer,” said her father, a little vaguely. “Yew’ve got a bootiful voice, Marion, it’s a pity yew can’t use it.”