Harry looked at his visitor with astonishment; he did not know what to make of him. Was he in earnest? Would a son of Joseph Flint go out to ride—on Sunday, too—while his mother and his brothers and sisters were on the very brink of starvation? Our hero had some strange, old-fashioned notions of his own. For instance, he considered it a son's duty to take care of his mother, even if he were obliged to forego the Sunday ride; that he ought to do all he could for his brothers and sisters, even if he had to go without stewed oysters, stay away from the theatre, and perhaps wear a little coarser cloth on his back. If Harry was unreasonable in his views, my young reader will remember that he was brought up in the country, where young America is not quite so "fast" as in the city.
"I didn't ask you to pay me," continued Harry.
"I know that; but, you see, I suppose I ought to pay you. The old man don't take much care of the family."
Harry wanted to say that the young man did not appear to do much better; but he was disposed to be as civil as the circumstances would permit.
"You needn't pay me."
"Oh, yes, I shall pay you; but if you can wait till the first of next month, I should like it."
"I can wait. Do you live out?"
"Live out? What do you mean by that? I am a clerk in a store downtown," replied Edward, with offended dignity.
"Oh, are you? Do they pay you well?"
"Pretty fair; I get five dollars a week."