“Sure! he’ll get rid of all the ‘stickers’ he’s got it in the shop, and when we open again next week for ordinary business, everything will be fresh and new.”
“Oh, then, you’re really not out of a job?” asked Helen, relieved for her friend’s sake.
“No. I’m all right. And you?”
“I came down particularly to see about that poor old man’s spectacles,” Helen said.
“Then you didn’t forget about him?”
“No, indeed. Did you see him? Has he got the prescription? Is it right about his eyes being the trouble?”
“Sure that’s what the matter is. And he’s dreadful poor, Helen. If he could see better he might find some work. He wore his eyes out, he told me, by writing in books. That’s a business!”
“Then he has the prescription.”
“Sure. I seen it. He’s always hoping he’d get enough money to have the glasses. That’s all he needs, the doctor told him. But they cost fourteen dollars.”
“He shall have them!” declared Helen.