"Of course she hasn't, father. How absurd you are! You know very well mother would hate the idea of me earning money. Hate it! But I mean to earn some. Surely it's much better to bring more money in than to pinch and scrape. I loathe pinching and scraping." "It's a sound loathing." "And I thought I'd got hold of a scheme. But it's too big. I have fifty pounds odd of my own, but what use is fifty pounds when a hundred's needed? It's all off and I'm in the last stage of depression." She threw away the core of the second apple. "Is that port? I'll have some." "So that you're short of fifty pounds?" said Mr. Prohack, obediently pouring out the port--but only half a glass. "Well, I might be able to let you have fifty pounds myself, if you would deign to accept it." Sissie cried compassionately: "But you haven't got a cent, dad!" "Oh! Haven't I? Did your mother tell you that?" "Well, she didn't exactly say so." "I should hope not! And allow me to inform you, my girl, that in accusing me of not having a cent you're being guilty of the worst possible taste. Children should always assume that their fathers have mysterious stores of money, and that nothing is beyond their resources, and if they don't rise to every demand it's only because in their inscrutable wisdom they deem it better not to. Or it may be from mere cussedness." "Yes," said Sissie. "That's what I used to think when I was young. But I've looked up your salary in _Whitaker's Almanac_." "It was very improper of you. However, nothing is secret in these days, and so I don't mind telling you that I've backed a winner to-day--not to-day, but some little time since--and I can if necessary and agreeable let you have fifty pounds."