"A small salary doesn't interest me," said Evan boldly. "Fifty dollars a week is my figure."
Simeon Deaves gasped. "You're crazy. It's a fortune. At your age I wasn't making a third of that!"
"Very likely. But times have changed."
The old man now opened the door for Evan. As he did so there was a scuttle in the passage and a figure whisked out of sight. "Snoopers!" thought Evan.
"Will you show me the way up-stairs?" he said. "I don't care to use the servants' entrance."
"Sure, that's right," said Deaves soothingly. "I hope we won't meet Maud. Always picking on me."
As they headed for the stairs he said cajolingly: "Fifteen dollars a week; that's plenty to live on. Youngsters ought to live simply. It's good for their health."
"But how about putting something by?" said Evan slyly.
"Well, I think my son might go as high as seventeen-fifty if I asked him. Because you're a good boy and a strong boy."
"Thanks. Nothing doing."