“I guess there's a little mistake in your calculations, father,” said Eben, significantly. “If you don't make at least forty dollars a week, including the post office, then I am mistaken.”
“So you are—ridiculously mistaken!” said his father, sharply. “What you presume is entirely out of the question. You forget that you will be getting your board, and Tom Tripp only received a dollar and a half a week without board.”
“Is that all you pay to Herbert Carr?”
“I pay him a leetle more,” admitted Ebenezer.
“What will you give me?”
“I'll give you your board and clothes,” said Ebenezer, “and that seems to be more than you made in Boston.”
“Are you in earnest?” asked Eben, in genuine dismay.
“Certainly. It isn't a bad offer, either.”
“Do you suppose a young man like me can get along without money?”
“You ought to get along without money for the next two years, after the sums you've wasted in Boston. It will cripple me to pay your bills,” and the storekeeper groaned at the thought of the inroads the payment would make on his bank account.