"You'll excuse my interruckting, but before you reely get your steam
up, let me have a word on my own account, an' then, if you want to, you
can fire away--the gun's your own. What I mean _is_--I don't believe in
lyin' awake, thinkin' about the future, when a body can put in good
licks o' sleep, restin' from the past. It's against my principles. I'm
by the day. I work by the day, an' I live by the day. I reasoned it out
so-fashion: the past is over an' done with, whatever it may be, an' you
can't change it, for all you can do, so what's the use? You can bet on
one thing, shoor, whatever ain't dead waste in your past is, somehow,
goin' to get dished up to you in your present, or your future. You ain't
goin' to get rid of it, till you've worked it into your system _for
health_, as our dear old friend, Lydia Pinkham, says. As to the future,
the future's like a flea--when you can put your finger on the future,
it's time enough to think what you'll do with it. Folkes futures'd be
all right, if they'd just pin down a little tighter to _to-day_, an'
make that square up, the best they can, with what they'd oughter do.
Now, as to _your_ future, there's nothin' to fret about for a minute in
it. Jus' now, you're here, safe an' sound, an' here you're goin' to stay
until you're well an' strong an' fed up, an' the chill o' Mrs. Daggett
is out o' your body an' soul. You can take it from me, that woman is
worse than any line-storm _I_ ever struck for dampenin'-down purposes,
an' freeze-out, an' generl cussedness. Your business to-day--now--is to
get well an' strong. Then the future'll take care of itself."

"But meanwhile," Claire persisted, "I'm living on you. Eating food for
which I haven't the money to pay, having loving care for which I
couldn't pay, if I had all the money in the world. I guess I know how
you settled my account with Mrs. Daggett. You gave her money you had
been saving for the rent, and now you are working, slaving overtime, at