"How do you do, dad?" he said, running down to greet his parent.
"First-rate, Bob," said Mr. Bangs, with a smile. "How have things gone with you to-day?"
"You forgot to give me my spending money this week."
"I think you are mistaken, Bob. However, it doesn't matter much," went on Mr. Bangs, as he entered the house.
"Phew! He's in a fine humor to-night," thought Bob. "I'll have to strike him for more than a dollar."
"Where's your mother?" went on the gentleman.
"In the sitting room, reading. But I say, dad, what about that money?"
"Can I have three dollars? I want to buy something extra this week--some things I really need."
"Ahem! Three dollars is quite a sum. I don't know of any other boy in Riverport who gets as much as three dollars in one week to spend."
"Well, but they haven't as rich a father as I have."
"Ah, quite true," nodded Mr. Bangs, with satisfaction. "I think I can safely lay claim to being the richest man in this district."
"Then I can have the three dollars?" went on Bob, anxiously.
"Yes. Here you are," and his parent brought forth a well-filled wallet and handed over three new one-dollar bills.
Bob was stowing the money away in his pocket and congratulating himself on his luck when a door opened and Mrs. Bangs appeared.
"So you are back, Amos," she said, sweetly. "It has been such a long, lonesome day without you."
"And a busy day for me," answered Amos Bangs, as he passed into the sitting room and dropped into an easy chair.
"I did, and met Tuller and the rest. We've got that thing in our grip now."
"Yes," she said, vaguely. In reality she took no interest whatever in her husband's affairs so long as she got what money she desired.
"Yes, sir--we've got the thing just where we want it," continued Amos Bangs.
"I mean that iron works affair of course, Viola. Can't you understand at all?"
"Oh--er--yes, of course. Let me see, you were trying to get control so you said."
"Was not that the works in which Mr. Bartlett is interested?"
"Yes, but I have it now, and I am going to keep it," answered Amos Bangs, with evident satisfaction.
"Do you mean Jack Bartlett's father, dad?" questioned Bob, eagerly.
"Well, I have--ahem--carried my point and the iron works will be absorbed by the concern in Springfield."