"You get through at six o'clock, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I hope you spend your evenings profitably, Thomas?"

"I ain't likely to go on any sprees, aunt, if that's what you mean. I
only get twelve dollars a week."

"I should think you might live on it."

"Starve, you mean. What's twelve dollars to a young fellow like me when
he's got his board to pay, and has to dress like a gentleman?"

"You are not in debt, I hope, Thomas?" said Mrs. Bradley, uneasily.

"I owe for the suit I have on, and I don't know where I'm going to get
the money to pay for it."

He was dressed in a flashy style, not unlike what is popularly
denominated a swell. His coarse features were disfigured with unhealthy
blotches, and his outward appearance was hardly such as to recommend
him. But to him alone the cold heart of the housekeeper was warm. He was
her sister's son and her nearest relative. Her savings were destined
for him, and in her attachment she was not conscious of his disagreeable
characteristics. She had occasionally given him a five-dollar bill to
eke out what he termed his miserable pay, and now whenever he called he
didn't spare hints that he was out of pocket, and that a further gift
would be acceptable. Indeed, the only tie that bound him to his aunt was