"You're going to leave me in the lurch!" she gasped.
"What on earth--" George sprang to her. "Get up, Aunt Fanny!"
"I can't. I'm too weak. Let me alone, George!" And as he released
the wrist he had seized to help her, she repeated the dismal prophecy
which for days she had been matching against her hopes: "You're going
to leave me--in the lurch!"
"Why no, Aunt Fanny!" he protested. "At first I'd have been something
of a burden on you. I'm to get eight dollars a week; about thirty-two
a month. The rent's thirty-six dollars a month, and the table-d'hote
dinner runs up to over twenty-two dollars apiece, so with my half of
the rent--eighteen dollars--I'd have less than nothing left out of my
salary to pay my share of the groceries for all the breakfasts and
luncheons. You see you'd not only be doing all the housework and
cooking, but you'd be paying more of the expenses than I would."
She stared at him with such a forlorn blankness as he had never seen.
"I'd be paying--" she said feebly. "I'd be paying--"
"Certainly you would.
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