"Eighty dollars a month—that's what the Nortons pay."
"Eighty a month—that's not bad, considering what you get!" Horatio observed largely.
It was a bargain, of course, as father and daughter tried to convince Mrs. Ridge. But the old lady, accustomed to Euston, Pa., rents, thought that the forty dollars a month they had to pay for the West Laurence box was regal, and when it was a question of subletting it at a sacrifice and taking another for twice the sum she quaked—visibly.
"Don't you think, Horatio, you'd better wait and see how the new business goes?"
But the voice of prudence was not to the taste of the younger generations.
"It'll be so near the store," Milly suggested. "Papa can come home for his lunch."
"You've got to live up to your prospects, mother," Horatio pronounced robustly.
The old lady saw that she was beaten and said no more. With compressed lips she contemplated the future. Father and daughter had no doubts: they both possessed the gambling American spirit that reckons the harvest ere the seed is put in the ground.
That evening after Milly had departed Horatio explained himself further,—
"You see, mother, we must start Milly the best we can. She's made a lot of real good friends for herself, and she'll marry one of these days. It's our duty to give her every chance."