“Just wait. You'll soon see I'm not wandering. Why should there be such an unequal distribution of wealth, and of the good things of the world? Why can you have all that heart can desire, and why must I get along with a mere pittance, just enough to make me wince under my own indigence? Look at my father and yours; my home and your home. Your father is a wealthy and honored lawyer with a home like a palace; mine, as I said before, one of squalid discomfort. My father gave me five dollars to get through the school year with, yours probably gave you a hundred.”
Henning began to pity the boy. Laying his hand gently on Stockley he said:
“Hold on. I begin to catch your view, but you are getting on too fast. I am going to tell you something which I have never breathed to a living soul.
Do you know how much money I had to spend this year?”
“As I said,” replied the other, “about a hundred, or perhaps much more.”
“You are mistaken. I had just twenty-five dollars—not one cent more—and you see that's a very small amount for me, because I am supposed—just as you suppose now—to have plenty.”
“Oh! Come off! You gave Smithers nearly ten,”
“I know it, and it left me fifteen.”
Jack and Ambrose were never so surprised in their lives—and felt like cheering. Stockley remained silent. This was a revelation to him. He had supposed that a rich man's son, because he was a rich man's son, always had all the money he wanted. He was sharp enough to realize Roy's position during the year.
“My, that must have been hard on you,”