"I am not going to be a doctor and a philosopher, but a doctor of philosophy," I said, with a sneer
"And how much will you make?"
"Oh, let him alone, Meyer," his mother intervened. "He is an educated fellow, and he doesn't care for money at all."
"Doesn't care for money, eh?" the younger Nodelman jeered
"Do you think money is really everything?" I shot back. "One might be able to find a thing or two which could not be bought with it."
"Not even at Ridley's," [note] he jested, but he was manifestly beginning to resent my attitude and to take our passage at arms rather seriously
"Not even at Ridley's. You can't get brains there, can you?"
"Well, I never learned to write, but I have a learned fellow in my office.
He's chuck full of learning and that sort of thing. Yet who is working for whom—I for him or he for me? So much for education—for the stuff that's in a man's head. And now let's take charity—the stuff that's in a man's heart.
I don't care what you say, but of what use is a good heart unless he has some jinglers [note] to go with it? You can't shove your hand into your heart and pull out a few dollars for a poor friend, can you? You can help him out of your pocket, though—that is, provided it is not empty."