“Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy,” she said, handing him his cup of tea, “only sardines and bread and butter and cheese. Our meatless day, eh?”
“It’ll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear,” he answered in his gentle voice, “there have been times when your old dad was glad enough to get a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for his supper. And there’s many a one worse off than we are today!”
“Any luck at the agent’s, daddy?”
Mr. Mackwayte shook his head.
“These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that’s a fact. They don’t want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and all that. Our people are being cruelly hit by it and that’s a fact. Why, who do you think I ran into at Harris’ this morning? Why, Barney who used to work with the great Charles, you know, my dear. For years he drew his ten pound a week regular. Yet there he was, looking for a job the same as the rest of us. Poor fellow, he was down on his luck!”
Barbara looked up quickly.
“Daddy, you lent him money....”
Mr. Mackwayte looked extremely uncomfortable.
“Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... to take him over the week-end.... he’s getting something.... he’ll repay me, I feel sure....”
“It’s too bad of you, daddy,” his daughter said severely. “I gave you that ten shillings to buy yourself a bottle of whiskey. You know he won’t pay you back. That Barney’s a bad egg!”