"I'll try, I'll try, I'll try," she said to herself, and her heart
thumped uncomfortably. "And if I take it to the office myself, when they
see me perhaps they--"
Aloud she said nothing, for she had early learned the great lesson that
the best way of getting her own will with her mother was to do what she
wished first and argue about it afterward.
"What have we got for supper, mother?" she asked.
"Nothing," said Mrs. Quincy sharply.
"Nothing? Well, give me some money and let me go and get something."
Mrs. Quincy reluctantly lifted her skirt and began to explore her
petticoat below. She shook open the mouth of a pocket into which she
dived to return with a knotted handkerchief. Lena looked on impatiently
as the knot was slowly untied and a small hoard of silver disclosed.
"There," said Mrs. Quincy. "You can take this quarter, Lena, and do get
something nourishing. Don't buy cream-cakes. I feel the need of what
will stay my stomach."
"I'll get baked-beans," answered the girl with a short laugh.
"Yes, do. I shan't have another cent till next pay-day comes. We've got
to make this last. Get some tea, Lena--green, remember. The beans won't
cost more than twelve cents. I don't see how you can have a new hat."
"Well, give me ten cents, anyway," Lena answered with unexpected
submission.
"What do you want it for?"
"Please, mammy," Lena said coaxingly. "I won't buy cream-cakes or
anything to eat. I want to invest in a gold mine."
Mrs. Quincy gave her a sharp look and grudgingly handed out a dime; for
Lena's voice was instinct with hope, and hope was such a rare visitor in
the dingy little lodgings that Mrs. Quincy grew generous under its
magnetic warmth.
"Now what'd you want that ten cents for?" she asked curiously when the
girl came back. "My land! Only paper and pencil? I thought you was going
to do something grand."