Some time since he had written to Mr. Waldo, asking for a money allowance for the care of Bill Benton. He knew very well that he was not entitled to it. He was at no expense for the boy’s clothes, and certainly Bill richly earned the very frugal fare, of which he partook sparingly, and the privilege of a hard bed in the attic. But it had struck him as possible that Mr. Waldo, not knowing the falsehood of his representations, would comply with his request.
“If I can get a dollar or a dollar ‘n’ a half for the boy’s keep,” Mr. Badger soliloquized, “I can make a good thing out’n him. A dollar a week will come to fifty-two dollars a year, and I can’t put a cent into the savings bank. A dollar ‘n’ a half will come to—lemme see—to seventy-eight dollars a year! That, in five years, would be three hundred and ninety dollars, without counting the interest.”
Mr. Badger’s eyes glistened and his heart was elated as he took in the magnificent idea. But, alas! he was counting chickens that were not likely to be hatched.
When sufficient time had elapsed for an answer to be due, he went to the post office every day, but there had been unusual delay. At last an answer had been received that very morning.
Mr. Badger tore open the envelope in eager haste, but there was no remittance, as he had fondly hoped. The contents of the letter also threw cold water on his aspiring hopes, as may be seen from the following transcript of it:
“MR. NATHAN BADGER: Your letter is received asking me to pay
you a weekly sum for the boy whom I bound out to you some
years ago. I can hardly express the surprise I felt at this
application. You certainly cannot forget that I furnish the
boy’s clothes, and that all you are required to do is to