"Oh, yes, yer can try, Kid. But if you was me, I wouldn't cut loose from nobody, not till I'd got me 'and in."
Tom raised himself on his elbow, his eyes, beneath their protruding horizontal eyebrows, aglitter with the wrath which puts life and the world out of focus.
"I am going to cut loose. I'm going to be my own master."
"Are you, Kid? How much of yer own master do yer expect to be, on the ten or twelve per yer'll git to begin with—if yer gits that?"
"Even if it was only five or six per, I'd be making it myself."
"And what about college?"
"College—hell!"
The boy fell back on his pillow. Feeling he had delivered his ultimatum, he waited for a reply. But Honey only stowed away his sewing materials in a little black box, after which he pulled off the articles of clothing he continued to wear, and set about his toilet for the night. At the sound of his splashing water on his face Tom muttered to himself: "God, another night of this will kill me."
Honey spoke through the muffling of the towel, while he dried his face. "Isn't all this fuss what I'm tellin' yer? The minute a girl gits in on a young feller's life there's hell to pay. That's why I'd like yer to steer clear of 'em as long as yer can hold out."
Tom shut his eyes, buried his face in the pillow, and affected not to hear.