"Have I gone too heavy, sir?" asked Hal. "You've never limited me, and I supposed that the business—"
"The business," interrupted his father arrogantly, "could pay those bills three times over in any month. That isn't the point. The point is that you've spent something more than forty-eight thousand dollars this last year."
Hal whistled ruefully. "Call it an even fifty," he said. "I've made a little, myself."
"No! Have you? How's that?"
"While I was in London I did a bit of writing; sketches of queer places and people and that sort of thing, and had pretty good luck selling 'em. One fellow I know there even offered me a job paragraphing. That's like our editorial writing, you know."
"Fine! That makes me feel easier. I was afraid you might be going soft, with so much money to spend."
"How I ever spent that much—"
"Never mind that. It's gone. However, we'll try another basis. I'd thought of an allowance, but I don't quite like the notion. Hal, I'm going to give you your own money."
"My own money? I didn't know that I had any."
"Well, you have."