“Two-eighty-five; she’s bound to go to three hundred. Hey? What’s that rubbish you’re readin’? Wall Street letter? What do I care what a lot of infernal gamblers say about a better tone in the market! Those fellows down there don’t produce anything; it’s the boys out here that grow the corn and feed the pigs that put value in the paper those fellows down there gamble in! Put that paper down; I want to talk a little business. How much money you got?”
The question was like a blow in the face. Her wits danced nimbly in her effort to find an answer, to decide just how to meet the issue.
“Do you mean the housekeeping money?” she asked faintly.
Since Mrs. Farley’s death she had paid the household bills from a sum deposited to her credit the first of every month. Beyond asking occasionally how the bills were running, Farley had never questioned her as to her expenditures. There was a special allowance and a generous one for her clothing, and when she asked for additions to the household money to renew linen or pay for repairs, it was always readily forthcoming.
“No, no!” he ejaculated impatiently. “I don’t mean the house money. How much you got in the trust company—the savings you’ve been gettin’ three per cent on? You must have over two thousand dollars there. I been meanin’ to ask you about that; you’ve got too much to keep at three per cent, and we ought to put it into securities of some kind. Run along and get your pass-book. If you haven’t got enough to buy ten shares of White River Trust stock, I’ll bring it up a little so you can have an even number.”
He was absorbed in mental calculations and did not notice the reluctance with which she rose and walked toward her room. The trust company required that books be presented when withdrawals were made, and she remembered the appearance of the teller’s notation. Farley had never looked at her pass-book since the day she brought it home and proudly displayed it. It was the unkindest fate that had turned his mind upon it at this juncture, and she canvassed all possible explanations: necessary expenditures in excess of her household and personal accounts; unusual repairs which she might pretend she had not wanted to trouble him with in his illness; or benevolences—the latter, she fancied, more likely to appease than the others in view of his own generosity to causes that appealed to him. She decided that a frank confession followed by an appeal to sentiment was the likeliest means of staying his anger.
She waited twisting her hands nervously, while he examined the book.
“What’s this? What’s this mean, Nan? You took out a thousand dollars in one lump—to-day! My God, what does this mean? What kind of investments you makin’, Nan? Yesterday you had with interest—lemme see—twenty-six hundred dollars, and now you’ve cut it down to sixteen hundred! What you spendin’ that money for, girl?”
“Well, papa,” she began with the best air of frankness she could summon, “something very strange and sad has happened. I meant to tell you all about it just as soon as you were stronger, but I’m glad to tell you now, for I know you will understand and sympathize—as you’ve always done whenever I’ve had my little troubles—”
He seemed to be taking this in good part until “troubles” caused him to sniff.