Here on the table were seventeen dollars and eighty cents. Nancy
had flattened the bills, and arranged the silver in piles, as they
talked. This was Sunday; Bert would be paid on Saturday next.
Could Nancy manage on that?
Nancy felt a vague alarm. But she had been a wage earner herself.
She rose to the situation at once.
"Manage what, Bert? If you mean just meals, of course I can! But I
won't have this much every week for meals ...?"
Bert took out a fountain pen, and reached for a blank envelope.
"Do you mind working it out?--I think it's such fun!"
"I love it!" Nancy brought her brightest face to the problem. "Now
let's see--what have we? Exactly one hundred a month."
"Thirteen hundred a year," he corrected.
"Yes, but let's not count that extra hundred, Bee!" Nancy, like
all women, had given her new husband a new name. "Let's save that
and have it to blow in, all in a heap, for something special?"
"All right." Bert digressed long enough to catch the white hand
and kiss it, and say: "Isn't it wonderful--our sitting here
planning things together? Aren't we going to have FUN!"
"Rent, thirty-five," Nancy began, after an interlude.
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