Half an hour later, prompted by Mrs. Fletcher's remonstrances, her husband came up and found the boy staring with unseeing eyes far over the railroad tracks into the park. In his hand was the same stocking which he had picked up so many minutes before. At last he appeared in the dining-room, to find that his father and mother had eaten their meal. His hair was half brushed, and his face and neck untouched by cleansing water (hadn't they been soaped the night before?), but he set to work on the nearly cold breakfast with a will. He removed his empty grain saucer from the bread and butter plate and looked up suddenly. "Mother," he said irresolutely. "Yes, son?" "Say, Mother--how old does a fellow have to be to get married, anyway?" His father chortled with merriment. John flushed an embarrassed red. His mother restrained a smile as she answered: "About twenty-one, dear, and lots of people wait until they're older. Why?" "Nothing. Does it cost very much?" "Cost much?" Mr. Fletcher dropped the Sunday paper to the floor and looked at his son and heir attentively. "Why, I should say it does. You ought to have at least a thousand dollars saved before you even _think_ of marrying." "John," cautioned Mrs. Fletcher reprovingly. "Don't torment the child." "Let's see," went on her husband, unheeding. "You're ten now. If you want to marry by the time you're twenty-one, that means you'll have to earn about a hundred dollars a year from now on. Better begin right away." "Raise my allowance, will you, dad?" came the unexpected retort. "I'm only getting a quarter a week now, and Sid DuPree's father gives him a whole dollar." "Young man," was the grave reply. "If you want to support a family, you'll have to do it of your own accord. You and your mother keep me busy as it is." "Give me a quarter, then," the boy persisted. "That's all I want. Please!" His father dug into his pockets and brought out the desired coin. "The nest-egg for the second generation of Fletchers," he grinned. "Catch, son." A few minutes later John disappeared in the direction of a little stationery and toy shop which lay some blocks to the north. But not a word could Mr. Fletcher draw from him as to the aim of the expedition. He returned with a mysterious package which he took up to his room and then sauntered out to Silvey's house. A little later his mother, who had gone upstairs to dress herself for dinner, came down to the dining-room where John, senior, still sat reading. "John," she said. "Yes, dear?" with a hasty glance away from the news sheet. "Do you know," her smile was tender, "there's a big, china pig bank up on that boy's bureau? I believe he's taken your words in earnest!" CHAPTER VIII WHEREIN HE RESOLVES TO GET MARRIED