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ou might as well go to work. But before you go, will you please give me a quarter? I borrowed a quarter from Rosie to buy your breakfast." Dave put his hand in his pocket and found a quarter. He flipped it across the table. "Here's your money, Rosie." "And if you want me to get any supper for you," Janet went on, "you'll have to give me some money, too." Dave hesitated. He was not accustomed to paying the household expenses. Before he realized what he was saying, he asked: "Hasn't your mother any money?" Under the instant fire of Janet's scorn, he saw his mistake and reddened with shame. "Yes," Janet told him grimly, "she's got one dollar and I'll see you starve to death before I touch one cent of it for you! If you want any supper, you pay for it yourself; and you'll pay for mine, too, if I get any. If I don't get any, it won't be the first time." Dave slowly emptied his pocket. He had a two-dollar bill, a fifty-cent piece, and some small change. "Here," he said, offering Janet the bill and the fifty-cent piece. "Will that suit you?" Janet took the money but refused to be placated. "It ain't what will suit me or won't suit me. You know as well as I do what's fair and square, and that's all there is to it. And while we're on money," she continued, "I might as well tell you if you don't pay five dollars on the rent we'll be dispossessed next Monday. On account of ma being sick so much lately we've dropped behind four weeks and the agent won't wait any longer." Dave swallowed hard. "This is all I got till Saturday." "Are you sure you'll have any more on Saturday?" Dave looked hurt. "Won't I have a whole week's wages?" "I don't know." Janet spoke without any feeling as one merely stating a fact. "Most weeks, you know, you're in debt to the saloon, and when you pay up there on Saturday afternoon you haven't much left by night." Dave smothered an oath. It was plain that he thought he had done a very handsome thing in passing over the greater part of his money. It was also plain that he had expected a grateful "Thank you." And what did he feel he was receiving? An insult! He looked at Janet in sullen resentment. "You're a nice one, you are, talking that way to your own father! I tell you one thing, though: you wouldn't talk that way if your mother was around. She's got a heart, she has! All you've got is a turnip!" At mention of her mother, Janet choked a little. "My mother don't think my heart's a
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