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296 I've got to tell the dear old buffer, and there's where it cuts."

At another time Polly would have laughed at the contrast between Tom's face and his language, but there was a sincere remorse, which made even the dreadful word "buffer" rather touching than otherwise.

"He will be very angry, I dare say; but he'll help you, won't he? He always does, Fan says."

"That's the worst of it, you see. He's paid up so often, that the last time he said his patience couldn't stand it, nor his pocket either, and if I got into any more scrapes of that sort, I must get out as I could. I meant to be as steady as Bunker Hill Monument; but here I am again, worse than ever, for last quarter I didn't say anything to father, he was so bothered by the loss of those ships just then, so things have mounted up confoundedly."

"What have you done with all your money?"

"Hanged if I know.'

"Can't you pay it any way?"

"Don't see how, as I haven't a cent of my own, and no way of getting it, unless I try gambling."

"Oh, mercy, no! Sell your horse," cried Polly, after a minute of deep meditation.

"I have; but he didn't bring half I gave for him. I lamed him last winter, and the beggar won't get over it."

"And that didn't pay up the debts?"

"Only about a half of 'em."

"Why, Tom, how much do you owe?"

"I have dodged figuring it up till yesterday; then