"Nothing doing," said the floorwalker, as I asked for the job of cleaning them; nevertheless, when he turned his back, I dropped on my knees and cleaned a square foot—did it inside of a minute.
"Say, boss," I said, "look here! I'm desperately hard up. I want to make money, and I want to make it honestly. I will clean that entire sign for a nickle."
It was pity that moved him to give me the job, and when it was completed, I offered to do the other one. "All right," he said; "go ahead."
"But this one," I said, "will cost you a dime."
"Why a nickle for this one and a dime for the other?" he asked.
"Well," I said, "we are just entering business. In the first case I charged you merely for the work done; in the second, I charge you for the idea."
"What idea?" he inquired.
"The idea that cleanliness is part of any business man's capital."
"Well, go ahead."
When both signs were polished I offered to do the big plate-glass windows for ten cents each. This was thirty cents below the regular price, and I was permitted to do the job. Tim, of course, took his cap off, rolled his shirtsleeves up and worked with a will beside me. After that, we swept the sidewalk, earning the total sum of thirty-five cents. We tried to do other stores, but the nationality of most of them was against us; nevertheless, in the course of the afternoon, we made a dollar and a half. I took Tim to "Beefsteak John's," and we had dinner. Then I began to boast of the performance and to warn Tim that on the following Sunday afternoon I should explain my success to the men in the bunk-house.