for this crowning touch to sink in. Infuriated by Gilbert's indifference,
he swung around again in his chair. "Say, ain't we _never_ goin' to have no
dinner? I'm hungry!"

"I'm sorry," was all Gilbert said.

Uncle Henry almost resorted to tears--they were in his voice, at any rate.
"First you rob me an' then you starve me!" he all but screamed. "An' the
best you got to say is you're sorry!"

Jones never looked up, as he continued to write. "I did the best I could,
Uncle. You know that, of course."

A remark like that always exasperates the hearer. "If that's yer best, I'd
hate to see what yer worst is like," the other flamed. "An' now we're
broke, an' they're goin' to foreclose to-day!" he added. "By golly, mebbe
they've foreclosed already!"

"No, not till eight o'clock," Gilbert's passionless manner was maddening.

"Eight o'clock to-night?" his uncle cried, and leaned so far out of his
chair that he was in danger of falling to the floor.

"Yes," Gilbert said, calmly.

"You're crazy! Don't you know yet that courts don't stay open at night?" He
swung about in his frenzy and disgust.

"This court does. Somebody told the judge where he could get a bottle of
liquor for eighteen dollars," Gilbert added, and smiled.