Mr. Darling was frightfully proud of her, but he was very honorable. He sat on the edge of Mrs. Darling's bed, holding her hand and calculating expenses, while she looked at him imploringly. She wanted to risk it, come what might, but that was not his way. His way was with a pencil and a piece of paper, and if she confused him with suggestions he had to begin at the beginning again.
"Now don't interrupt," he would beg of her.
"I have one pound seventeen here, and two and six at the office. I can cut off my coffee at the office, say ten shillings, making two nine and six, with your eighteen and three makes three nine seven, with five zero zero in my checkbook makes eight nine seven. Who is that moving? Eight nine seven, dot and carry seven--don't speak, my ownùand the pound you lent to that man who came to the door--quiet, childùdot and carry child--there, you've done it! Did I say nine nine seven? Yes, I said nine nine seven; the question is, can we try it for a year on nine nine seven?"
"Of course we can, @George," she cried. But she was prejudiced in @Wendy's favor, and he was really the grander character of the two.
"Remember mumps," he warned her almost threateningly, and off he went again. "Mumps one pound, that is what I have put down, but I daresay it will be more like thirty shillings.
