"Not till later," she replied.
They talked little and the meal was short. But afterwards, on the wooden
porch, Deborah turned to her father,
"Now tell me about your office," she said.
"There's not enough business to pay the rent."
"That won't last--"
"I'm not so sure."
"I am," she said determinedly. Her father slowly turned his head.
"Are you, with this war?" he asked. Her eyes met his and moved away in a
baffled, searching manner. "She has troubles of her own," he thought.
"How much can we run the house on, Deborah?" he asked her. At first she did
not answer. "What was it--about six thousand last year?"
"I think so," she said restlessly. "We can cut down on that, of course--"
"With Edith and the children here?"
"Edith will have to manage it! There are others to be thought of!"
"The children in your schools, you mean."
"Yes," she answered with a frown. "It will be a bad year for the tenements.
But please go on and tell me. What have you thought of doing?"
"Mortgage the house again," he replied. "It hasn't been easy, for money is
tight, but I think I'll be able to get enough to just about carry us
through the year. At home, I mean," he added.
"And the office?"
"Shut down," he said. She turned on him fiercely.
"You won't do that!"
"What else can I do?"
"Turn all those girls away?" she cried. At her tone his look grew troubled.
"How can I help myself, Deborah? If I kept open it would cost me over five
hundred a week to run.
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