It was a suit of the cotton mixture that looks like wool when it is new, and cuts a figure on the counters of every dealer in cheap ready-made clothing. It had been Tim Powell's best attire for a year; perhaps he had not been careful enough of it, and that was why it no longer cared even to imitate wool; it was faded to the hue of a clay bank, it was threadbare, the trousers bagged at the knees, the jacket bagged at the elbows, the pockets bulged flabbily from sheer force of habit, although there was nothing in them. “I thought you were to have a new suit,” said the girl. “Uncle told me himself he was going to buy you one yesterday when you went to town.” “I wouldn't have asked him to buy me anything yesterday for more'n a suit of clothes.” “Why?” The girl opened her eyes. “Didn't he do anything with the lawyer? Is that why you are both so glum this morning?” “No, he didn't. The lawyer says the woman that owns the mortgage has got to have the money. And it's due next week.” The girl grew pale all over her pretty rosy cheeks; her eyes filled with tears as she gasped, “Oh, how hateful of her, when she promised----” “She never promised nothing, Eve; it ain't been hers for more than three months. Sloan, that used to have it, died, and left his property to be divided up between his nieces; and the mortgage is her share. See?” “I don't care, it's just as mean. Mr. Sloan promised.” “No, he didn't; he jest said if Uncle was behind he wouldn't press him; and he did let Uncle get behind with the interest two times and never kicked. But he died; and now the woman, she wants her money!” “I think it is mean and cruel of her to turn us out! Uncle says mortgages are wicked anyhow, and I believe him!” “I guess he couldn't have bought this place if he didn't give a mortgage on it. And he'd have had enough to pay cash, too, if Richards hadn't begged him so to lend it to him.” “When is Richards going to pay him?” “It come due three months ago; Richards ain't never paid up the interest even, and now he says he's got to have the mortgage extended for three years; anyhow for two.” “But don't he KNOW we've got to pay our own mortgage? How can we help HIM? I wish Uncle would sell him out!” The boy gave her the superior smile of the masculine creature. “I suppose,” he remarked with elaborate irony, “that he's like Uncle and you; he thinks mortgages are wicked.” “And just as like as not Uncle won't want to go to the carnival,” Eve went on, her eyes filling again. Tim gazed at her, scowling and sneering; but she was absorbed in dreams and hopes with which as yet his boyish mind had no point of contact. “All the girls in the A class were going to go to see the fireworks together, and George Dean and some of the boys were going to take us, and we were going to have tea at May Arlington's house, and I was to stay all night;”--this came in a half sob. “I think it is just too mean! I never have any good times!”