"I'll step into the bank and get a check cashed and give Orlean some money. I haven't much, but I want her to have her own money."
"Never mind, my son, just never mind. I can get along," said the Reverend, keeping his head turned and appearing ill at ease, though I thought nothing of that at the time.
"I wouldn't think of such a thing!" I answered, protesting that he was not able to pay her way. "I wouldn't think of allowing her to accept it."
"Now! Now! Why do you go on so? Haven't I told you I have enough?" he answered in a tenor voice, trying to appear winsome.
Feeling that I knew his disposition, I said no more, but as we were passing the bank, I started to enter, saying to my wife:
"I am going to get you some money."
She caught me by the sleeve and cried excitedly: "No! No! No! Don't, because I have money." Hesitating a moment and repeating, "I have money."
"You have money?" I repeated, appearing to misunderstand her statement. "How did you get money?"
"Had a check cashed," she answered nervously.
"O, I see!" I said. "How much?"
"Fifty dollars," she answered, clinging to my arm.
"Good gracious, Orlean!" I exclaimed, near to fright. "We haven't got that much in the bank."
"Oh! Oh! I didn't want to," and then called to her father, who was just coming with the baggage: "Papa! Papa! You give Oscar back that money.
