"Well, bub," said he, tenderly, "how fare ye? How fare ye? Eh?"
"I'm pretty well, I thank you, sir," replied the lad.
"I guess not. You're as blue as a whetstone. You haven't got as much on you as a picked goose."
"I can't help it, sir," and the boy burst into tears.
"Well, well, I didn't mean to trouble you, boy. Here, take this money, and buy somethin' to make you happy. Don't tell your dad you've got it. It's yourn."
The boy made a gesture of rejection, and said: "I don't wish to take it, sir."
"Now, that's good! Don't wish to take it! Why, what's your name? You're a new sort o' boy."
"My name is Harry Benedict."
"Harry Benedict? And what's your pa's name?"
"His name is Paul Benedict."