Jessie. Dad, it isn’t that!  He means to go!

Dad. I don’t doubt that he means to go!  But how long do you think he means to stay?

Jack. Six months, Dad.

Dad (scornfully). Six months!  It won’t be six days before I’ll he getting bills to pay for you!

Jack. You’ll get no bills from me, Dad.  I’m not going to use your name.

Dad. How long will it he before I hear you’ve been borrowing money from your friends?

Bob. You must listen, Dad.  Jack and I are making a wager.  He’s to go out in my hobo clothes and he’s not to use his own name—­he’s not to see any of his old friends, nor to communicate with them.  He’s to depend absolutely on his own efforts—­to shift for himself for six months.  That’s the bargain.

Dad. And do you imagine he’ll keep it?

Bob. I believe he’ll try.

Dad (gazes from one to the other; then with sudden vehemence). Very well!  You can let me in on that bargain!

Jack. How do you mean?

Dad. Make your wager with me—­I’ll give you a stake to play for!  A stake that will make the game worth while!

Jack. What stake, Dad?

Dad. A quarter of a million dollars!  Your mother’s property.

Jessie. Dad!

Dad. I mean what I say!  As God is my witness, I’ll stand by what I say!  You go out of here to-night with your hobo clothes and you shift for yourself for six months.  If I find out that you’ve told a soul whose son you are, or that you’ve used my name or your own name to get a cent of money or a job, or even so much as a ham sandwich; or if you come home before the six months is up, or write to one of us, or to any one else for help—­as sure as I live, it will cost you a quarter of a million dollars.

Jessie. Dad, that is wicked.

Dad. It will cost him a quarter of a million dollars!  I’ll take the money the same day and turn it over to the Home for Cats!  Do you get that, young man?

Jack. Yes, I get it, and it’s a bargain!

Dad. Very well, sir.  Now good luck to you!

Jack. Good-bye, Bob.  Good-bye, Jessie.

Jessie (rushing to him). Jack, I can’t let you go!

Jack. Don’t touch me, Jessie.  You’ll ruin your dress.

Bob. Let her kiss you, Jack.  She’ll be the last girl that offers for some time.

Jack (to Jessie). Be sensible, dear.  I won’t let any harm come to me.

Bob. Get one of the fast freights, Jack.

Jack. No freights in mine—­New York will do.  There’s some money still lying around in this old town, I’ve an idea.

Dad (sarcastically). He’ll be king of the shoe-string peddlers—­the walking delegate of the Hobos’ Union!

Jack. You may laugh, Dad, but I know I’m not such a fool as I seem.  Maybe it’ll take me more than six months, but I think I can convince you in the end that I can make my way.