Mrs Rimbolt comes into the library just as the business is concluded.
“Why, Percy, not in bed—and so tired too!”
“Oh, I’ve been doing some work for father,” says the boy, chinking the two half-crowns in his pocket.
“But your father, I’m sure, would not wish you to injure your health.”
“Certainly not. Percy was hard up, and has just been earning five shillings.”
“What do you mean—earning five shillings?”
“Yes—father’s been tipping me for cataloguing his books. Jolly hard work, but he pays on the nail, don’t you, father?”
“My dear boy,” said the mother, as she and her son walks across the hall, “why did you not tell me you wanted money? You know I do not grudge it. I don’t like you to stay up so late to earn it, when you ought to be resting.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind another five shillings, mother.”
The mother gives him a half-sovereign and kisses him.