“Oh, there is n’t any such thing nowadays!  I was only chaffing; but of course, the men to whom I am in debt can apply to father, and get me in a regular mess.  I ’ve pawned my watch to stave one of them off.  You see, Polly, I would rather die than do it; nevertheless, I would write and tell father everything, and ask him for the money, but circumstances conspire just at this time to make it impossible.  You know he bought that great ranch in Ventura county with Albert Harding of New York.  Harding has died insolvent, and father has to make certain payments or lose control of a valuable property.  It’s going to make him a rich man some time, but for a year or two we shall have to count every penny.  Of course the fruit crop this season has been the worst in ten years, and of course there has been a frost this winter, the only severe one within the memory of the oldest inhabitant,—­that’s the way it always is,—­and there I am!  I suppose you despise me, Polly?”

“Yes, I do!” (hotly)—­“No, I don’t altogether, and I ’m not good enough myself to be able to despise people.  Besides, you are not a despisable boy.  You were born manly and generous and true-hearted, and these hateful things that you have been doing are not a part of your nature a bit; but I ’m ashamed of you for yielding to bad impulses when you have so many good ones, and—­oh dear!—­I do that very same thing myself, now that I stop to think about it.  But how could you, you, Edgar Noble, take that evil-eyed, fat-nosed, common Tony Selling for a friend?  I wonder at you!”

“He is n’t so bad in some ways.  I owe him eighty dollars of that money, and he says he ’ll give me six months to pay it.”

“I ’m glad he has some small virtues,” Polly replied witheringly.  “Now, what can we do, Edgar?  Let us think.  What can, what can we do?” and she leaned forward reflectively, clasping her knee with her hands and wrinkling her brow with intense thought.

That little “we” fell on Edgar’s loneliness of spirit consolingly; for it adds a new pang to self-distrust when righteous people withdraw from one in utter disdain, even if they are “only girls” who know little of a boy’s temptations.

“If you can save something each month out of your allowance, Edgar,” said Polly, finally, with a brighter look, “I can spare fifty or even seventy-five dollars of our money, and you may pay it back as you can.  We are not likely to need it for several months, and your father and mother ought not to be troubled with this matter, now that it’s over and done with.”

The blood rushed to Edgar’s face as he replied stiffly:  “I may be selfish and recklessly extravagant, but I don’t borrow money from girls.  If you wanted to add the last touch to my shame, you ’ve done it.  Don’t you suppose I have eyes, Polly Oliver?  Don’t you suppose I ’ve hated myself ever since I came under this roof, when I have seen the way you worked and planned and plotted and saved and denied yourself?  Don’t you suppose I ’ve looked at you twenty times a day, and said to myself, ’You miserable, selfish puppy, getting yourself and everybody who cares for you into trouble, just look at that girl and be ashamed of yourself down to the ground!’ And now you offer to lend me money!  Oh, Polly, I wouldn’t have believed it of you!”