“Not at all, my dear fellow. I said you were a bully, and so you are. I meant no offense. The sons of rich men are sometimes puffed up with the idea of their own importance, and your father is a rich man, at least for a country place.”
“He is a rich man for any place,” said Philip, boastfully.
“I am glad to hear it, especially as it will make it easier for you to pay me the trifling sum you owe me.”
“Trifling sum!” ejaculated Philip. “You said it amounted to over twenty-two dollars.”
“So it does; but that is a trifling sum for the son of a very rich man. Some persons would charge you for the little service I have done this afternoon, but that I only did at the bidding of friendship.”
“It was very kind of you,” said Philip, uncomfortably; “but you mustn’t think because my father is rich I have plenty of money. The fact is, he is very stingy with me, and if it wasn’t for my mother I would only have a dollar a week.”
“It is very considerate of the old man, to be sure. You ought to have five dollars a week.”
“So I ought. If I only had I would be able to pay you up in a short time.”
“Why don’t you suggest to your paternal relative to enlarge the supplies?” suggested Congreve, knocking off the ashes from his cigar.
“I have,” answered Philip, “and he always says that a dollar a week is enough for a boy of my age.”