Bunny was embarrassed, because he knew Dad was going to think he was “queer.” Nevertheless, he persisted. “That’s where the Watkins family live.”
“Watkins family—who are they?”
“Don’t you remember that boy, Paul, that I met one night when you were talking about the lease?”
“Gosh, son! You still a-frettin’ about that boy?”
“I met Mrs. Groarty on the street yesterday, and she told me about the family; they’re in dreadful trouble, they’re going to lose their ranch to the bank because they can’t meet the interest on the mortgage, and Mrs. Groarty says she can’t think what they’ll do. You know Mrs. Groarty didn’t get any money herself—at least, she spent her bonus money for units, and she isn’t getting anything out of them, and has to live on what her husband gets as a night watchman.”
“What you want to do about it?”
“I want you to buy that mortgage, Dad; or anything, so the Watkinses can stay in their home. It’s wicked that people should be turned out like that, when they’re doing the best they can.”
“There’s plenty o’ people bein’ turned out when they don’t meet their obligations, son.”
“But when it’s not their fault, Dad?”
“It would take a lot of bookkeeping to figger jist whose fault it is; and the banks don’t keep books that way.” Then seeing the protest in Bunny’s face, “You’ll find, son there’s a lot o’ harsh things in the world, that ain’t in your power to change. You’ll jist have to make up your mind to that, sooner or later.”