"Gobs! I have twenty dollars a month allowance for pocket money."

"I wish I had," answered March. "You must have a good deal saved up by
the end of the year." West stared.

"Saved? Why, I'm dead broke this minute. And I owe three bills in town.
Don't tell any one, because it's against the rules to have bills, you
know. Anyhow, what's the good of saving? There's lots more." It was
March's turn to stare.

"What do you spend it for?" he asked.

"Oh, golf clubs and balls, and cakes and pies and things," answered West
carelessly. "Then a fellow has to dress a little, or the other fellows
look down on you."

"Do they?" March cast a glance over his own worn apparel. "Then I guess
I must try their eyes a good deal."

"Well, I wouldn't care--much," answered West halfheartedly. "Though of
course that hat--"

"Yes, I suppose it is a little late for straws." West nodded heartily.
"I was going to get a felt in Boston, but--well, I saw something else I
wanted worse; and it was my own money."

"What was it?" asked West curiously.

"A book." West whistled.