“Now look here, you!” Mr. Fallow scowled darkly. “That’s the same song-and-dance you’ve been giving me ever since last spring, and I’m sick of it. I ain’t in business for my health!”
“Certainly not, sir. Not that you don’t look jolly healthy, of course, but——”
“Say, don’t get fresh,” growled the other. “Never you mind how I look. All you got to do is to hand over my money. If you can’t do that——”
“But I can, sir, only I can’t do it today. Tomorrow——”
“Yah! You promised it yesterday, didn’t you? Well, I expect folks to keep their word, see? Tomorrow won’t do, son. You’ve had time enough.” He looked about the room sarcastically. “Living in quarters like these, eh, and can’t pay your just debts! Well, we’ll see what Mr. Thingamabob, your principal, has got to say about it.” Mr. Fallow stood up and with difficulty thrust the bill back into his pocket.
“But, I say,” exclaimed Hugh in alarm, “you’re not really going to do that?”
“You watch me!”
“Well, but—I say, now, look here a sec! I give you my word that bill will be paid this week, and——”
“You said tomorrow.”
“I’m almost certain it will be tomorrow, but my—my mother is away from home and I fancy she hasn’t got my telegram, don’t you know.”