"
Mrs. Richards sat down, gently quivering with excitement, and was soon
lost in thinkings--after this pattern: "What a strange thing it is! . . .
And what a fortune for that kind man who set his bread afloat upon the
waters! . . . If it had only been my husband that did it!--for we are so
poor, so old and poor! . . ." Then, with a sigh--"But it was not my
Edward; no, it was not he that gave a stranger twenty dollars. It is a
pity too; I see it now. . . " Then, with a shudder--"But it is
_gamblers_' money! the wages of sin; we couldn't take it; we couldn't
touch it. I don't like to be near it; it seems a defilement." She moved
to a farther chair. . . "I wish Edward would come, and take it to the
bank; a burglar might come at any moment; it is dreadful to be here all
alone with it."
At eleven Mr. Richards arrived, and while his wife was saying "I am _so_
glad you've come!" he was saying, "I am so tired--tired clear out; it is
dreadful to be poor, and have to make these dismal journeys at my time of
life. Always at the grind, grind, grind, on a salary--another man's
slave, and he sitting at home in his slippers, rich and comfortable.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25