when he turned around in Father's revolving desk-chair.
"Bobbie, I want to talk with you," he said.
"All right," I replied gladly. "Go on." Perhaps, I thought to myself, there will be a chance to introduce Oliver's letter.
Alec folded his hands on the slide of the desk drawn out between us.
"We're spending too much money," he said simply.
I had heard that same sentiment expressed so often that I wasn't deeply impressed. I had observed in spite of Alec's continued talk about economy that there was always enough to pay the bills. I continued sewing.
"Of course; I know," I said, trying to appear sympathetic.
"No, Bobbie," Alec replied; "I don't think you do. It is different this time. Will you stop sewing?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, dropping my work in my lap.
"Bobbie," Alec said, "perhaps you will understand the seriousness of the situation when I tell you that I do not think that we ought to live in such a big house."
"Not live here?" I exclaimed.
"I'm afraid not, Lucy. It's a big place to keep up for just you and me and Ruth. We can't afford it."
"Has the business failed, Alec?" I interrupted with kind of a sick feeling in my stomach.
"Certainly not," he said in an annoyed sort of manner as if he had not liked me to ask. "We're simply living way beyond what we can afford; that's all. We've got to cut down. I don't know how long it
