and then come on your father for help

"Don't you feel well, Philip?" asked his mother. "Certainly! What makes you ask?" "You don't generally stay at home all the afternoon." "Oh, well, there isn't anything going on in the village." "Where is that friend of yours who is staying at the hotel?" "He went away this morning to the city." "Isn't he coming back?" "Oh, yes, I suppose so." "I suppose you feel lonely without him?" "Yes, mother." "Have you seen anything of Uncle Obed lately?" asked Mrs. Ross, making a wry face as she pronounced the word admitting the relationship. "Yes; I saw him walking with the Gilbert boy the other evening." "Did you speak to him?" "No; I just nodded. I don't care about getting intimate with him. I wish he'd leave town." "As likely as not, he'll use up all his money, and then come on your father for help." "I hope father won't give him anything, then," said Philip. "I am willing that he should give him enough to get him back to Illinois. He ought never to have left there. If he thinks we are going to pay his board here, all I can say is that he is very much mistaken," said Mrs. Ross, pressing her thin lips together with emphasis. "That's the talk, ma! I am glad you don't mean to be imposed upon. I suppose old Wilkins thinks you are soft, and won't see him suffer. You'd better keep a stiff upper lip." "He will know me better after a while," said Mrs. Ross. The afternoon wore away, and supper came. Philip partook as usual, and waited afterward in the confident expectation that his father would open the small trunk. He was not mistaken. Upon retiring to his special apartment, Colonel Ross took up the trunk, and, producing the key, opened it.