"Mother," he said irresolutely.
"Yes, son?"
"Say, Mother—how old does a fellow have to be to get married, anyway?"
His father chortled with merriment. John flushed an embarrassed red. His mother restrained a smile as she answered:
"About twenty-one, dear, and lots of people wait until they're older. Why?"
"Nothing. Does it cost very much?"
"Cost much?" Mr. Fletcher dropped the Sunday paper to the floor and looked at his son and heir attentively. "Why, I should say it does. You ought to have at least a thousand dollars saved before you even think of marrying."
"John," cautioned Mrs. Fletcher reprovingly. "Don't torment the child."
"Let's see," went on her husband, unheeding. "You're ten now. If you want to marry by the time you're twenty-one, that means you'll have to earn about a hundred dollars a year from now on. Better begin right away."
"Raise my allowance, will you, dad?" came the unexpected retort. "I'm only getting a quarter a week now, and Sid DuPree's father gives him a whole dollar."