The question put Tunis on his mettle. He explained that Cap'n Ira
and his wife were comfortably "fixed," as Cape people considered
comfort, with a home free and clear of all encumbrances, and
investments that yielded a sufficient support. Ida May, as he
understood it, would share their home and their means.
"And you want I should go down to that place and live on pollack and
potatoes till them folks die, for the sake of just a _home_?" she
demanded, her brown eyes snapping.
"_I_ don't want you to do anything," he pointed out coolly enough.
"I am merely repeating their offer. They are your folks."
"And I know all about what it is down there," the girl said quickly.
"My mother came from there. She was glad enough to get away, too, I
warrant. Why should I give up a good job and the city to live in
such a dead-and-alive hole?"
"That is for you to decide," Tunis replied, not without secret
relief.
He could not understand her attitude. He remembered that South End
lodging house with secret horror. But evidently Ida May Bostwick was
wedded to the tawdry conveniences and gayeties of city life. Tunis
could not wholly understand why any sane person should assume this
attitude; in fact, he suspected a good deal of it was put on.
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