"As mad as a hatter," said the brother sadly.
"If, Alfred, I tell you how much to take out of this, will you send him the change, or is the change to remain over until next time?"
"The miserable man is as mad as a March hare."
"See! This is all I spent for him--twelve and threepence, and that includes a lot of things that will keep till he comes again."
"To think of this poor man trusting a harpy, a lodging-house keeper, with untold gold! O, the pity of it!"
"There are candles and lamp-oil, and tea and soap, and sugar, and other things that will keep, Alfred. You can explain this when you are sending him the change. I suppose it will be best to send him the change. You have his Richmond address?"
"Freddie," said the father, addressing his flaxen-haired, blue-eyed little son at the other side of the table, "when you grow up and are a great big man, don't lodge with your Aunt Hetty. She'd fleece you, my boy. She'd starve you, and she wouldn't leave you a rag to cover you." He shook a warning finger at the boy.
"I shall live always with Aunt Hetty," said the boy stoutly, "and I want more bread-and-butter, please."
"See, my poor child, she is already practising. If she only had her way, she would reduce you to a skeleton in a week."
"Alfred, I wish you'd be sensible for a minute. This is business. I really don't know what to do, and you ought to tell me. Will you look at this list, and see if it is properly made out?" she said pouting. She had a pretty way of affecting to pout and then laughing at the idea of her being in a bad humour.