“We will fix everything right,” he said, gently. “I’ll take no step without your consent. Let’s see! To get back to business—” he smiled, whimsically. “You mustn’t think a personal matter can influence our regulations. That bill of yours must be settled.” Martha jumped. In her excitement she had quite forgotten the landlord, the house and the gravity of the Matchett situation. Speechless, she drew herself up. Could this hard-headed man be so devoid of humanity, after what had happened, as to refuse her assistance? “Still,” he went on in his matter-of-fact tone, “I’ll give you a little more time on it. Till next week, say. Here is the money, but say nothing about it. Quite against rules, you know.” He pulled out a wallet and handed her four bank notes, three tens and a five. “Thanks!” said Martha, counting them mechanically. “I s’pose you want this;” she held out the receipted bill. “Oh yes—I must have that.” He put it carefully in a pigeon-hole. “I’m ever so much obliged,” murmured the woman, “an’ I’ll try to scrape up something by next week. I s’pose you’ll be ’round to see Lucianna—an’ talk with Mr. Matchett.” “Very soon.” Crowson’s mouth trembled at the corners. “How long have you had Lucianna?” “Twelve years come Saturday. Enos was sayin’ so night before last. We call it her birthday, an’ most always give her something. Not this year, though. Can’t afford it.” The merchant figured on a pad. “Twelve. Six hundred and twenty-four,” he whispered. Then aloud. “The Harpinsons charged me ten dollars a week for Lucianna’s keep. It was none too much.” “They skinned you,” said Martha, adjusting her bonnet. She felt dazed and tired; quite bewildered at the prospect of losing Lucianna, uneasy regarding Enos, yet thankful for the temporary financial respite. “I’ve got to hurry home,” she announced. “There’s nothing more to say except that I’ll do my best to settle my bill and I’m obliged to you. I’m mighty glad for you, sir, but the thought of what we’re losing makes me fairly sick. It ain’t right to say so, but I most wish I hadn’t come.” She turned with a choke. “One moment,” said Crowson. “I want your address. What is your full name, Mrs. Matchett?” “Martha.” “Any middle name?” “Hum! Lupkins,” returned Martha reluctantly. “We live at 462 Goodland Avenue—used to be Squash Street. You’ll find us easy enough—good day.” “One thing more. It will take only a minute. You have arranged your old account. There’s another you seem to have overlooked.” He touched a button on his desk. “There ain’t another!” declared Martha, defiantly. “I don’t owe a cent here besides this.” The door opened quickly. A young man bustled in. “Hinkley,” ordered Mr. Crowson, and his eyes twinkled, “draw a check at once to the order of Martha L. Matchett for six thousand two hundred and forty dollars.”