is more confidential, and she once more captivates him by
entering heart and soul into his project and entreating to be made a
party in the experiments.

"I'd see," says he; "but mind you don't go chattering!"

Mr Rimbolt gravitates as usual to his library, and here it is that half
an hour later his son presents himself, still in his working garb.

"Father," says the hopeful, "please can you give me some money?"

"Why, you have had ten shillings a week since you came home!"

"Aren't you a millionaire, father?"

"Some people say so."

"Doesn't that mean you've got a million pounds?"

"That's what `millionaire' means."

"Ten shillings a week is only twenty-six pounds a year."

"Quite right, and few boys get such good pocket-money."

"When I come into the property I shall allow my son more than that,"
says Percy gravely.

"Not if you love him as much as I love my son," says Mr Rimbolt, with a
pleasant smile.

"Good-night, father."

"Good-night! Why, it's only half-past seven."

"I know. I'm going to _get_ up early; I've got a lot of work to do.
Besides, I'm miserable."

"Why?"

"Because I can't get any money."

"Why not earn some? I want some one to catalogue my books for me. What
do you say to doing it? I shall pay half a crown a shelf."

Percy hesitates a bit, and looks at the bookcases, and makes a mental
calculation.

"That will be about twelve pounds, won't it? Have you got a book to
write the names on?"

"What! Are you going to begin now?"

"Yes."

And Percy sits up till eleven o'clock, and succeeds in that time in
cataloguing after a fashion, and not badly for a first attempt, two of
the smallest shelves in the library, for which he receives then and
there five shillings, much to his own comfort and to his father's
amusement.

Mrs Rimbolt comes into the library just as the business is concluded.

"Why, Percy, not in bed--and so tired too!"

"Oh, I've been doing some work for father," says the boy, chinking the
two half-crowns in his pocket.

"But your father, I'm sure, would not wish you to injure your health."

"Certainly not. Percy was hard up, and has just been earning five
shillings."

"What do you mean--earning five shillings?"

"Yes--father's been tipping me for cataloguing his books. Jolly hard
work, but he pays on the nail, don't you, father?"

"My dear boy," said the mother, as she and her son walks across the
hall, "why did you not tell me you wanted money