“Mother,” said William, with great intensity, “I want to ask you please to lend me three dollars and sixty cents.” “What for, Willie?” “Mother, I just ask you to lend me three dollars and sixty cents.” “But what _for_?” “Mother, I don’t feel I can discuss it any; I simply ask you: Will you lend me three dollars and sixty cents?” Mrs. Baxter laughed gently. “I don’t think I could, Willie, but certainly I should want to know what for.” “Mother, I am going on eighteen years of age, and when I ask for a small sum of money, like three dollars and sixty cents, I think I might be trusted to know how to use it for my own good without having to answer questions like a ch--” “Why, Willie!” she exclaimed. “You ought to have plenty of money of your own.” “Of course I ought,” he agreed warmly. “If you’d ask father to give me a regular allow--” “No, no; I mean you ought to have plenty left out of that old junk and furniture I let you sell, last month. You had nearly nine dollars!” “That was five weeks ago,” William explained wearily. “But you certainly must have some of it left. Why, it was _more_ than nine dollars, I believe! I think it was nearer ten. Surely you haven’t--” “Ye Gods!” cried the goaded William. “A person going on eighteen years old ought to be able to spend nine dollars in five weeks without everybody’s acting like it was a crime! Mother, I ask you the simple question: Will you _please_ lend me three dollars and sixty cents?” “I don’t think I ought to, dear. I’m sure your father wouldn’t wish me to, unless you’ll tell me what you want it for. In fact, I won’t consider it at all unless you do tell me.” “You won’t do it?” he quavered. She shook her head gently. “You see, dear, I’m afraid the reason you don’t tell me is because you know that I wouldn’t give it to you if I knew what you wanted it for.” And this perfect diagnosis of the case so disheartened him that after a few monosyllabic efforts to continue the conversation with dignity, he gave it up, and left in such a preoccupation with despondency that he passed the surprised Jane, in the hall, without suspecting what she had been doing. That evening, after dinner, he made to his father an impassioned appeal for three dollars and sixty cents, laying such stress of pathos on his principal argument that if he couldn’t have a dress-suit, at least he ought to be given three dollars and sixty _cents_ (the emphasis is William’s), that Mr. Baxter was moved in the direction of consent--but not far enough. “I’d like to let you have it, Willie,” he said, excusing himself for refusal, “but your mother felt _she_ oughtn’t to do it, unless you’d say what you wanted it for, and I’m sure she wouldn’t like me to do it. I can’t let you have it unless you get her to say she wants me to.”