, etc.), and
a letter from Mr. Dodge. It was this letter which shadowed Applegate
Farm and dug a new think-line in Ken's young forehead. For Rocky Head
Granite was, it seemed, by no means so firm as its name sounded. Mr.
Dodge's hopes for it were unfulfilled. It was very little indeed that
could now be wrung from it. The Fidelity was for Mother--with a margin,
scant enough, to eke out the young Sturgises' income. There was the bill
for carting, other bills, daily expenses. Felicia, reading over Ken's
shoulder, bit her lip.
"Come back to town, my dear boy," wrote Mr. Dodge, "and I will try to
get you something to do. You are all welcome to my house and help as
long as you may have need."
It had been dawning more and more on Ken that he had been an idiot not
to stay in town, where there _was_ work to do. He had hated to prick
Phil's ideal bubble and cancel the lease on the farm,--for it was really
she who had picked out the place,--but he was becoming aware that he
should have done so. This latest turn in the Sturgis fortunes made it
evident that something must be done to bring more money than the
invested capital yielded. There was no work here; unless perhaps he
might hire out as a farm-hand, at small wages indeed. And he knew
nothing of farm work. Nevertheless, he and Felicia shook their heads at
Mr. Dodge's proposal. They sat at the table within the mellow ring of
lamplight, after Kirk had gone to bed, and thrashed out their
problem,--pride fighting need and vanquishing judgment.
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