"Aunt Sarah," he began, "I am rather hard up just now—"
"Never mind, dear, I can get along, I think. You can pay me back sometime when it is convenient."
"Yes, I mean to,—but I have been a fool. I—I am going to turn over a new leaf,—not go out any more, and save up," Wayland stammered.
Usually to a remark of this kind his aunt would respond with consoling assurance that he was young and must have a little pleasure; but to-night she only said with a sigh it would perhaps be better; that when one was poor the only peaceful thing was to accept it.
"Then I suppose you couldn't lend me a little?" he faltered.
"Lend?" Miss Sarah sat up very straight. "Oh, Wayland, are you in debt?"
"Oh, well, if you can't it is all right; but you needn't jump all over a fellow."
"I do not understand what you mean by 'jumping all over you.' I certainly don't feel like such gymnastics. But I want you to tell me honestly the state of affairs."
The truth was hard to extract. Wayland was sullen, apologetic, and contrite by turns. At last it came out. He owed one hundred and fifty dollars.
"I am sorry." Miss Sarah sank back in her chair. "I fear you have been very foolish. To go in debt seems to me not quite honest. But I am glad you told me. I'll try to help you; and you'll promise, won't you, not to do this again?"