“Nonsense!” protested Dan, “it's no concern of his.” He turned his flushed boyish face angrily away.
Champe looked at him steadily with a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, I hope your independence will come buttered,” he remarked. “I doubt if you will find the taste of dry bread to your liking. By the way, do you intend to enter Jack Hicks's household?”
“For a fortnight, perhaps. I've written to Judge Compton, and if he'll take me into his office, I shall study law.”
Champe gave a long whistle. “I should have supposed that your taste would be for tailoring,” he observed, “your genius for the fashions is immense.”
“I hope to cultivate that also,” said Dan, smiling, as he glanced at his coat.
“What? on bread and cheese and Blackstone?”
“Oh, Blackstone! I never heard he wasn't a well-dressed old chap.”
“At least you'll take half my allowance?”
Dan shook his head. “Not a cent—not a copper cent.”
“But how will you live, man?”