"Food before fun, Tom," said the father, resolutely closing his hand
upon such remaining silver as he had, and then thrusting the fistful
into his pocket,--"food before fun. Ball isn't business to this family
just now, an' money means business ev'ry time. When I was away an'
couldn't help it, things mebbe didn't go as they ort to have gone, but
now that I'm back again, there shan't be any trouble if I know how to
stand in the way of it."

This expression of principle and opinion did not seem to impress
favorably the eldest male member of the second generation. Master Tom
thrust out his lower lip again, glared at his father, took his hat, and
abruptly departed. There was no dinner at the Kimper table that day,
except for such members of the family as could endure slices of cold
boiled pork with very little lean to it. Late in the afternoon,
however, Tom returned, with an air of bravado, indulged in a number of
reminiscences of the ball game, and at last asked why supper was not
ready.

"Tom," asked the father, "why didn't you come back to-day with what I
gave you money to buy?"

"Well," said the young man, dipping his spoon deeply into a mixture of
hasty pudding, milk, and molasses, "I met some of the boys on the
street, an' they told me about the game, an' it seemed to me that I
wouldn't 'pear half a man to 'em if I didn't go 'long, so I made up my
mind that you an' the mother would get along some way, an' I went
anyhow. From what's in front of me, I guess you got along, didn't you?"

"Tom," said the father, leaving his seat at the table and going around
to his son's chair, on the top bar of which he leaned,--"Tom, of course