did you say you wanted?"

"I want some money. I haven't had a cent this week."

"Then you must ask your father. I haven't anything to give you," and
again Mrs. Bangs turned to her book.

"Can't you give me a dollar?"

Again there was no answer.

"I say, can't you give me a dollar?"

"I cannot. Now go away and be quiet until supper time."

"Then give me fifty cents."

"I haven't a penny. Ask your father."

"Oh, you're a mean thing!" growled the wayward son, and stalked out of
the sitting room, slamming the door after him.

"What a boy!" sighed the lady of the house. "He never considers my
comfort--and after all I have done for him!" And then she turned once
more to her precious novel.

It wanted half an hour to supper time and Bob, not caring to do
anything else, took himself back to his room. Like his mother, he, too,
loved to read. Stowed away in a trunk, he had a score or more of cheap
paper-covered novels, of daring adventures among the Indians, and of
alluring detective tales, books on which he had squandered many a dime.
One was called "Bowery Bob, the Boy Detective of the Docks; or, Winning
a Cool Million," and he wanted to finish this, to see how Bob got the
million dollars. The absurdity of the stories was never noticed by him,
and he thought them the finest tales ever penned.

He was deep in a chapter where the hero in rags was holding three men
with pistols at bay when he heard a noise below and saw his father
leaping from the family carriage. Mr. Bangs' face wore a look of great
satisfaction, showing plainly that his day's business had agreed with
him.

"How do you do, dad?" he said, running down to greet his parent.

"First-rate, Bob," said Mr. Bangs, with a smile. "How have things gone
with you to-day?"

"Not very well."

"What's the matter?"

"You forgot to give me my spending money this week."

"I thought I gave it to you Saturday."

"That was for last week."

"I think you are mistaken, Bob. However, it doesn't matter much," went
on Mr. Bangs, as he entered the house.

"Phew! He's in a fine humor to-night," thought Bob. "I'll have to
strike him for more than a dollar."

"Where's your mother?" went on the gentleman.

"In the sitting room, reading. But I say, dad, what about that money?"

"Oh, do you want it right away?"

"I'd like to have it after supper."

"Very well."

"Can I have three dollars? I want to buy something extra this
week--some things I really need."

"