"Do you suppose he's made any money out there?"
"Did you ever hear of Stephen making money anywhere?"
"If he has he ought to be made to pay something to the housekeeping. It's only fair."
"If he's made anything," said Minnie, "he's spent it all. That's why he's coming. Look at the supper!"
The table before her was laid for the evening meal. She pointed to the heels of two loaves, a knuckle of ham, a piece of cheese, and some water in a glass jug. Oatmeal simmered on a reeking oil-stove in a corner of the room.
"How much will it cost to keep him?"
Kate's narrow, peaked face was raised in calculation. Kate's eyes became mean homes for meaner thoughts of which she was visibly unashamed.
"Ten shillings a week at the very least. Fifty-two weeks—that's twenty-six pounds a year. Or probably fifteen shillings—a man eats more than a woman, at any rate more butcher's meat—that's thirty-nine pounds. That's only what he eats," she added significantly. "What did you say, Mother?"
The old lady raised her voice, and the man outside took hope. "I say I think you're both very unfeeling. For all you know, poor fellow, he may be quite reformed."
"He may be. I know the chances are he won't," said Kate.