“You had better drop eight cents in the bank before you forget it,” said Mrs. Fenelby.

“Eight cents?” inquired Tom, quite at a loss to remember what he was to pay eight cents for.

“Eight cents,” repeated his wife. “For the candy. It is eighty cents a pound, isn’t it? But it is a luxury, isn’t it? That would be twenty-four cents!”

“Yes, twenty-four cents,” said Tom, smiling. “Twenty-four cents; but I don’t pay it. You pay it.”

[Pg 52]“I pay it!” cried Mrs. Fenelby. “The idea! I didn’t buy the candy. I didn’t even ask you to buy it, Tom, although I am very glad to have it, and you are a dear to bring it to me. But you are the one to pay for it. You bought it.”

“My dear,” said Mr. Fenelby, “whoever brings a thing into the house pays the duty on it. I gave you the box of candy when we were a full block from the house, and you accepted it, and it was your property after that, and you brought it into the house, and you must pay the duty on it.”

For a moment Mrs. Fenelby was inclined[Pg 53] to be hurt, and then she laughed.

“What is it?” her husband asked, as he seated himself at his end of the table, and unfolded his napkin.

“I’ll pay the twenty-four cents; but please don’t bring me any more candy,” she said.[Pg 54] “I can’t afford presents. But that wasn’t what I was laughing about. I just happened to think of Will and Kitty. Will they have to pay duty on their trunks and all the things they have in them? Kitty has the most luxurious dresses, and