Mrs. Trott kicked the light covering down over her feet and wadded the pillow so that her head was raised higher. "I've been short of money ever since you went off," she explained, pettishly. "When you were here you always had some on Saturday nights, but after you went off you didn't send as much and Jane and I both got in a hole." "Well, what do you want now?" he asked. "How much?" "I'll have to think," Mrs. Trott said. "I borrowed five from Jane yesterday. We were playing a little game and I lost. I was about to drop out when Jane backed me. I lost again. My luck was against me, and her, too. Jane needs the five. She is sick and will have to have a doctor. You know they insist on cash--they won't come here, the silly fools, unless you shake the money in their faces, though they run the accounts of other people for years on a stretch." "I haven't got that much with me," he gave in, wearily, "but I'm going to the bank after dinner and will get it." "How much have you got there?" Mrs. Trott inquired. "That's _my_ business, not yours," he said, with an oath, for under that roof it had always seemed natural for him to swear. "And don't you be nosing into my business, either. You went there once and tried to get money on my name, but don't you do it again. I've turned over a new leaf. I have to. You throw money away like water, on cards, whisky, beer, and what not. I can't keep that up, and I won't. I have to draw the line somewhere." She raised her head a little higher and fixed her eyes, in their puffy sockets, on him in a sort of groping wonder. "Why, what has got into you?" she asked, stupidly, and all at once he seemed older to her, older and more dignified, more business-like, more like his dead father, to whom she had been flagrantly untrue. "Common sense, I reckon," he jerked out. "If I've been a fool I don't always have to stay one. I'm going to need money--for myself, for my _own_ self, do you understand? I--I don't intend to live on here always, either. I'll be of age before long. I've thought it all over. I'm willing to set aside a reasonable amount to help you along, but I'm done with these big drafts on me." "John, what ails you?" There was a touch of shrinking fear in the almost childish appeal. "You have never talked like this before." "Well, I might as well begin," he sniffed. "You have to be told. I've seen how other folks live away from here, and I want a change. I'm sick of it all--you and Jane and the gang you hang out with." "John Trott," his mother gasped, "you sha'n't talk to me this way. I won't stand it." "Well, then, think it all over," he answered. "I know my business. You can look out for yours. I know when I've had enough, and I _have_ had enough."