Mrs. Baxter laughed gently. “I don't think I could, Willie, but certainly I should want to know what for.”
“Mother, I am going on eighteen years of age, and when I ask for a small sum of money like three dollars and sixty cents I think I might be trusted to know how to use it for my own good without having to answer questions like a ch—”
“Why, Willie,” she exclaimed, “you ought to have plenty of money of your own!”
“Of course I ought,” he agreed, warmly. “If you'd ask father to give me a regular allow—”
“No, no; I mean you ought to have plenty left out of that old junk and furniture I let you sell last month. You had over nine dollars!'
“That was five weeks ago,” William explained, wearily.
“But you certainly must have some of it left. Why, it was MORE than nine dollars, I believe! I think it was nearer ten. Surely you haven't—”
“Ye gods!” cried the goaded William. “A person going on eighteen years old ought to be able to spend nine dollars in five weeks without everybody's acting like it was a crime! Mother, I ask you the simple question: Will you PLEASE lend me three dollars and sixty cents?”
“I don't think I ought to, dear. I'm sure your father wouldn't wish me to, unless you'll tell me what you want it for. In fact, I won't consider it at all unless you do tell me.”
“You won't do it?” he quavered.