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"I was thinking about the money, Aunt Fanny. You see—"
"I'm sure we can manage it," she interrupted quickly. "There really isn't a cheaper place in town that we could actually live in and be—" Here she interrupted herself. "Oh! There's one great economy I forgot to tell you, and it's especially an economy for you, because you're always too generous about such things: they don't allow any tipping. They have signs that prohibit it."
"That's good," he said grimly. "But the rent is thirty-six dollars a month; the dinner is twenty-two and a half for each of us, and we've got to have some provision for other food. We won't need any clothes for a year, perhaps—"
"Oh, longer!" she exclaimed. "So you see—"
"I see that forty-five and thirty-six make eighty-one," he said. "At the lowest, we need a hundred dollars a month—and I'm going to make thirty-two."
"I thought of that, George," she said confidently, "and I'm sure it will be all right. You'll be earning a great deal more than that very soon."
"I don't see any prospect of it—not till I'm admitted to the bar, and that will be two years at the earliest."
Fanny's confidence was not shaken. "I know you'll be getting on faster than—"
"Faster?" George echoed gravely. "We've got to have more than that to start with."
"Well, there's the six hundred dollars from the sale. Six hundred and twelve dollars it was."
"It isn't six hundred and twelve now," said George. "It's about one hundred and sixty."
Fanny showed a momentary dismay. "Why, how—"
"I lent Uncle George two hundred; I gave fifty apiece to old Sam and those two other old darkies that worked for grandfather so long, and ten to each of the servants here—"
"And you gave me thirty-six," she said thoughtfully, "for the first month's rent, in advance."
"Did I? I'd forgotten. Well, with about a hundred and sixty in bank and our expenses a hundred a month, it doesn't seem as if this new place—"
"Still," she interrupted, "we have paid the first month's rent in advance, and it does seem to be the most practical—"
George rose. "See here, Aunt Fanny," he said decisively. "You stay here and look after the moving. Old Frank doesn't expect me until afternoon, this first day, but I'll go and see him now."
It was early, and old Frank, just established at his big, flat-topped desk, was surprised when his prospective assistant and pupil walked in. He was pleased, as well as surprised, however, and rose, offering a cordial old hand. "The real flare!" he said. "The real flare for the law. That's right! Couldn't wait till afternoon to begin! I'm delighted that you—"
"I wanted to say—" George began, but his patron cut him off.
"Wait just a minute, my boy. I've prepared a little speech of welcome, and even though you're five hours ahead of time, I mean to deliver it. First of all, your grandfather was my old war-comrade and my best client; for years I prospered through my connection with his business, and his grandson is welcome in my office and to my best efforts in his behalf. But I want to confess, Georgie, that during your earlier youth I may have had some slight feeling of—well, prejudice, not altogether in your favour; but whatever slight feeling it was, it began to vanish on that afternoon, a good while ago, when you stood up to your Aunt Amelia Amberson as you did in the Major's library, and talked to her as a man and a gentleman should. I saw then what good stuff was in you—and I always wanted to mention it. If my prejudice hadn't altogether vanished after that, the last vestiges disappeared during these trying times that have come upon you this past year, when I have been a witness to the depth of feeling you've shown and your quiet consideration for your grandfather and for everyone else around you. I just want to add that I think you'll find an honest