“Why, no, I guess not. I have enough money, of course.”
“I see. Very nice. ‘Enough money, of course.’ Well, I only asked because I assumed—we all did, in fact,—that you were sort of hard-up.”
“Hard-up? Why?” asked Ira, puzzled.
“Well, you see, you—you didn’t spend much money on—things——”
“Meaning my clothes?” asked the other, smiling.
Mart nodded apologetically. “Clothes for one thing. And then I—we got the idea that as your father was a lumberman you wouldn’t be very well-off.”
“I see. Well, dad isn’t exactly a lumberman in the way you mean. He’s president of the Franklin Lumber Company and owns most of the stock. I dare say you could call him rather well-off. And of course he gives me all I need—and a bit more, I guess. As for spending, why, I don’t know, Mart. You see, I’ve lived in a small place all my life, and there’s never been very much to spend money on. And, besides, folks up our way are sort of saving. You get the habit, I guess. I always buy whatever I want that seems worth while, but I like to see that I’m getting the value of my money when I do buy. I didn’t know I was giving you the idea that I was poverty-stricken. I certainly didn’t mean to, Mart.”
“Say no more. My fault! We sort of jumped to delusions, so to say. Personally, I’m glad that you aren’t in the pauper class. It makes it easier for me to get around to the real, bona fide reason of my visit. You thought I dropped in for a social call or to escape Brad and his Debating Society, but I didn’t, Ira. My real reason—but I hardly like to broach it even now.”
“Go ahead,” Ira laughed. “If it’s a loan you can have it, you know.”
“Well, it is,” acknowledged the visitor, palpably embarrassed. “I—the fact is—Oh, hang it, could you lend me fifty dollars?”