Now--Jericho! Jericho!" he
sneezed, without any sort of meaning. "Miss Podge," said Duff Salter,
"if you look directly into my eyes and articulate distinctly, I can hear
all you say without raising your voice higher than usual. How much money
do you get for school teaching?"
"Five hundred dollars."
"Is that all? What do you do with it?"
"Support my mother and brother."
"And yourself also?"
"Oh! yes."
"She can't do it!" exclaimed Duff Salter inwardly; "that director comes
in the case. Miss Podge, how old is your brother?"
"Twenty-four. He's my junior," she said archly. "I'm old."
"Why do you support a man twenty-four years old? Did he meet with an
accident?"
"He was taken sick, and will never be well," answered Podge warily.
"Excuse me!" exclaimed Duff Salter, "was it constitutional disease? You
know I am interested."
"No, sir. He was misled. A woman, much older than himself, infatuated
him while a boy, and he married her, and she broke his health and ruined
him."
Podge's eyes fell for the first time.
Duff Salter grasped her hand.
"And you tell me!" he exclaimed, "that you keep three grown people on
five hundred dollars a year? Don't you get help from any other quarter?"
"Agnes has given me board for a hundred dollars a year," said Podge,
"but times have changed with her now, and money is scarce.
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