"No, sir."
"Have you got money put by?"
"Four hundred dollars."
"Is that enough?"
"It'll give me time for a long look around."
The old man drew a big, rusty pocketbook from the inside pocket of the old-fashioned, flowered-velvet waistcoat he wore even when he fed the pigs. He counted out upon his knee ten one-hundred-dollar bills. He held them toward his son. "That'll have to do you," he said. "That's all you'll get."
"No, thank you," replied Hampden. "I wish no favors from anybody."
"You've earned it over and above your keep," retorted his father. "It belongs to you."
"If I need it I'll send for it," said Hampden, that being the easiest way quickly to end the matter.
But he did tell Pauline that he purposed to pay his own way through college.