Chapter 5

But it was during the ensuing time that the real problem came up--the
problem of how far it was excusable to discuss the turpitude of parents
with a child of twelve, of thirteen, of fourteen. Absolutely inexcusable
and quite impossible it of course at first appeared; and indeed the
question didn't press for some time after Pemberton had received his
three hundred francs. They produced a temporary lull, a relief from the
sharpest pressure. The young man frugally amended his wardrobe and even
had a few francs in his pocket. He thought the Moreens looked at him as
if he were almost too smart, as if they ought to take care not to spoil
him. If Mr. Moreen hadn't been such a man of the world he would perhaps
have spoken of the freedom of such neckties on the part of a subordinate.
But Mr. Moreen was always enough a man of the world to let things pass--he
had certainly shown that. It was singular how Pemberton guessed that
Morgan, though saying nothing about it, knew something had happened. But
three hundred francs, especially when one owed money, couldn't last for
ever; and when the treasure was gone--the boy knew when it had
failed--Morgan did break ground. The party had returned to Nice at the
beginning of the winter, but not to the charming villa. They went to an
hotel, where they stayed three months, and then moved to another
establishment, explaining that they had left the first because, after
waiting and waiting, they couldn't get the rooms they wanted. These
apartments, the rooms they wanted, were generally very splendid; but
fortunately they never _could_ get them--fortunately, I mean, for
Pemberton, who reflected always that if they had got them there would
have been a still scantier educational fund. What Morgan said at last
was said suddenly, irrelevantly, when the moment came, in the middle of a
lesson, and consisted of the apparently unfeeling words: "You ought to
filer, you know--you really ought."

Pemberton stared. He had learnt enough French slang from Morgan to know
that to filer meant to cut sticks. "Ah my dear fellow, don't turn me
off!"

Morgan pulled a Greek lexicon toward him--he used a Greek-German--to look
out a word, instead of asking it of Pemberton. "You can't go on like
this, you know."

"Like what, my boy?"

"You know they don't pay you up," said Morgan, blushing and turning his
leaves.

"Don't pay me?" Pemberton stared again and feigned amazement. "What on
earth put that into your head?"

"It has been there a long time," the boy replied rummaging his book.

Pemberton was silent, then he went on: "I say, what are you hunting for?
They pay me beautifully."