“Daddy, may I ask you a question?” you inquired of your British father, Arthur, as he had just come home from work. With the time being nine o’clock at night, you were awfully tired but determined to see your father before heading off to bed. Arthur, however, looked dreadfully exhausted as his work day seemed to have taken a toll on him. That being said, no cheery greetings were made between the two of you. As he made his way to the kitchen, Arthur barely seemed to give you a glance.
“Sure, what is it dear?” Quickly, you followed him into the other room, seeing as he was actually willing to talk to you tonight.
“Daddy, how much do you make an hour?” A gasp left Arthur’s lips as his mind began to wonder why you felt the need to know. He shook his head to rid himself of sleep, seeing as he could barely see straight.
“Why do you ask such a thing?” he questioned while setting his briefcase