It was past ten o'clock and the maid was, or should have been, asleep, so when there came a knock at the front-door Bertha got up to answer it herself.
"Whoever can it be at this time of night?" I said.
"It's Evelyn come to borrow again," said Bertha. "I know her knock."
"Don't always look on the dark side of things," I counselled; "be an optimist like me. Now I have a feeling that she has come to pay back what they borrowed last week."
A minute later Bertha returned. "I knew it," she said; "it is as I feared. Jack has sent her over to borrow three more."
"Three more!" I gasped; "but it's preposterous. They borrowed five only last Monday and they'll never pay them back, of course. What did you say to her?"
"I said I couldn't manage it myself, but I would ask you."
"I suppose we shall have to do it," I said, crossing over to the bureau and unlocking it.
"Haven't you got any on you?" asked Bertha.
"Only one; I never carry more than that in case I might get my pockets picked. It's a bit thick," I continued, "we economise and deny ourselves in all kinds of ways and then that spend-thrift comes—or, rather, sends his wife—and borrows all our hard-earned savings."