"Gee, Uncle Phil! It's highway robbery."
"Scarcely. All things considered, it was a very fair bill. A hundred dollars is a good deal to pay for the pleasure of nearly getting yourself and somebody else killed, Ted."
Ted pulled his forelock and had nothing to say.
"Were you in earnest about paying up for that particular bit of folly, son?"
"Why, yes. At least I didn't think it would be any such sum as that," Ted hedged. "I'll be swamped if I try to pay it out of my allowance. I can't come out even, as it is. Couldn't you take it out of my own money—what's coming to me when I'm of age?"
"I could, if getting myself paid were the chief consideration. As it happens, it isn't. I'm sorry if I seem to be hard on you, but I am going to hold you to your promise, even if it pinches a bit. I think you know why. How about it, son?"
"I suppose it has to go that way if you say so," said Ted a little sulkily. "Can I pay it in small amounts?"
"How small? Dollar a year? I'd hate to wait until I was a hundred and forty or so to get my money back."
The boy grinned reluctantly, answering the friendly twinkle in his uncle's eyes. He was relieved that a joke had penetrated what had begun to appear to be an unpleasantly jestless interview. He hated to be called to account. Like many another older sinner he liked dancing, but found paying the piper an irksome business.
"Nonsense, Uncle Phil! I meant real paying. Will ten dollars a month do?"