know Mortimer Hamilton. He doesn't care how he throws money away!"
"My father never throws money away!" exclaimed Dick, always ready to champion his parent. "He thinks it pays to buy good clothes, as they wear better than cheap ones."
"Such wastefulness," sighed the aunt, as she led the way upstairs. "But it's no use talking. However, if you come to live here—"
She did not finish the sentence, but Dick registered a mental vow that it would be a long day before he would voluntarily come to live at The Firs.
He was shown into a small room, plainly furnished, containing a small cot bed.
"As you are only to stay a week, I thought it would make less work for me if you had this room," said Mrs. Larabee. "It used to be the servant's, but I don't keep any now. They are too expensive. Now be very careful. Always take your shoes off when you come upstairs, as I can't be always cleaning and dusting. Don't throw your things around, and keep the shutters closed so the flies won't get in. When you are ready come down to dinner."
"Well, if this doesn't get me!" exclaimed Dick, when his aunt had left him alone and he had dropped down on the edge of the cot. "This certainly is the limit. If I didn't know differently I'd say Uncle Ezra had lost all his money. I guess he's got it salted down and hates to take
