"Ah, I mean work," said Adam Patch dispassionately.
"I'm not quite sure yet what I'll do. I'm not exactly a beggar, grampa," he asserted with some spirit.
The old man considered this with eyes half closed. Then almost apologetically he asked:
"How much do you save a year?"
"Nothing so far—"
"And so after just managing to get along on your money you've decided that by some miracle two of you can get along on it."
"Gloria has some money of her own. Enough to buy clothes."
"How much?"
Without considering this question impertinent, Anthony answered it.
"About a hundred a month."
"That's altogether about seventy-five hundred a year." Then he added softly: "It ought to be plenty. If you have any sense it ought to be plenty. But the question is whether you have any or not."
"I suppose
