to hear it."

"I wish, sir," said George a moment afterwards, "that you would allow me
to buy my own clothes."

"I've no sort of an objection, I am sure. You select them now, don't
you?"

"Yes, sir, but I mean to suggest that you should make me an allowance
for that purpose,--about as much as it costs now,--and give me the money
to spend where I please."

Mr. Dawkins looked sharply at his son.

"The result would probably be," he said, "that the money would be
expended in other ways, and I should have to pay for the clothes twice
over."

Dawkins would have indignantly disclaimed this, if he had not felt that
he was not altogether sincere in the request he had made.

"No," continued his father, "I don't like the arrangement you propose.
When you need clothing you can go to my tailor and order it, of course
not exceeding reasonable limits."

"But," said Dawkins, desperately, "I don't like Bradshaw's style of
making clothes. I would prefer trying some other tailor."

"What fault have you to find with Bradshaw? Is he not one of the most
fashionable tailors in the city?"

"Yes, sir, I suppose so, but----"

"Come, sir, you are growing altogether too particular. All your garments
set well, so far as I can judge."

"Yes, sir, but one likes a change sometimes," persisted George, a little
embarrassed for further objections.

"Well," said Mr. Dawkins, after a pause, "If you are so strongly bent
upon a new tailor, select one, and order what you need. You can tell him
to send in his bill to me."

"Thank you sir," said his son, by no means pleased at the manner in
which his request had been granted. He saw that it would in no manner
promote the plan which he had in view, since it would give him no
command of the ready money. It is hardly necessary to say that his
alleged dissatisfaction with his father's tailor had all been trumped
up for the occasion, and would never have been thought of but for the
present emergency.

"What shall I do!" thought Dawkins, in perplexity, as he slowly
undressed himself and retired to bed.

The only true course, undoubtedly, was to confess all to his father,
to incur the storm of reproaches which would have followed as the just
penalty of his transgression, and then the haunting fear of discovery
would have been once and forever removed. But Dawkins was not brave
enough for this. He thought only of escaping from his present difficulty
without his father's knowledge.

He rose the n