"It's true, mother, and you know it. He's the meanest man in town."
"I don't like to hear you talk in that way, Joshua. Don't forget that he is your father."
"I wish he'd treat me like a father, then. I leave it to you, mother, if twenty-five cents a week isn't a miserable allowance for a fellow of my age."
"It is rather small," said Mrs. Drummond, cautiously.
"Small! I should think it was. It's just about right for a boy of ten. That's just the way he treats me."
"Perhaps, if you would speak to your father about it, Joshua—"
"I have spoken to him, and that's all the good it does. He blows me up for my extravagance. Extravagance on twenty-five cents a week!"
"I'll speak to him myself, Joshua," said his mother;—a heroic resolve, for she knew that the request would bring anger upon herself.
"He won't mind your talk any more than mine. But I'll tell you what you can do to oblige me, mother."