“I’m glad of that,” said Rock, “for I am too. I could eat every mouthful of that stew.”
“I wish you would,” said Jerry, frankly. “I’m tired of it; I’d a lot rather have the sardines.”
“All right, it’s a go,” said Rock. “I hope you don’t want any, Cassy. Wouldn’t you rather have the sardines, too? then I can have all the stew.”
Cassy confessed that she would rather, and Rock drew the dish of stew to his side of the table.
“Did you have a good day, Jerry?” Cassy asked.
“Not very; I only made thirty cents.”
Rock looked at him. “To think of this little fellow helping to support his family,” was his thought, and he gave Jerry an admiring glance.
“That’s more than I ever earned in one day,” he said, soberly.
“Oh, but you don’t have to,” Jerry replied. “I reckon I wouldn’t either, if I were you.”
“Never mind, old fellow,” Rock went on, “you’ll be twice the man for it. I tell you when a fellow shows what he is willing to do and that he isn’t going to shirk, it goes a great way. John McClure told father about your insisting upon doing something to pay for that little measly geranium you got for Cassy, and ever since then father’s been keen to see to this business of your mother’s. John McClure is a fine man. Father says he is one of the most intelligent fellows he knows. He is a Scotchman by birth and is well educated, but he had some trouble with his people at home and came to America to make his living any way that he could. He’d always been fond of gardening, so he applied for the place as gardener with us, and has been there ever since we’ve lived here. I believe he will come into some property some day, and we’ll be sorry to part with him, I tell you.”