Hope held up the piece of blue-checked linen. “Dish-cloths.”
“Oh. I suppose we haven’t rented any more rooms?”
Hope shook her head. “No, there hasn’t been a soul here—except the ice-man and a man who wanted to sell us a set of ‘The World’s Best Literature.’”
“Well, I don’t see how we’re going to get along with just those two rooms rented,” said Jim gloomily. “Endicott said I might advertise in the school paper, but Benton said it would be wasting money because the fellows don’t change rooms after school begins.”
“Lady and I were talking about it this afternoon,” said Hope, biting a thread off with her teeth and then glancing apologetically at her brother.
“What have I told you—” began Jim sternly. But Hope hurried on. “Lady said she thought we could manage to make expenses even if we don’t let any more rooms. She says living isn’t very expensive here in Crofton. And then, Jim, there’s the rent money from the house at home.”
“Thirty-three dollars a month! Wait until we have to buy coal to heat this place! It’s going to take a lot of fuel, the rooms are so big and there are so many windows.”
“Well, we may rent another one yet,” replied Hope cheerfully. “You never can tell, Jim, and, anyway, it doesn’t do a bit of good to worry.”
“Some one’s got to do a little worrying,” answered Jim shortly. “You and Lady don’t seem to care whether we make this thing go or not!”
“You’re perfectly horrid! We do care, Jim, but nobody ever did any good to anybody by worrying. Besides, I don’t see that there is anything we can do but just—just wait.”