“A room, do you say? I call it a dog kennel.”
“You have your breakfast and dinner every day regularly.”
“I know that, and half a bottle of wine at each meal, which has so much water in it that it cannot even stain the tablecloth.”
“You are an ungrateful young hound,” exclaimed Beaumarchef, “and forget that, in addition to this, he has set you up in business as a hot chestnut seller.”
“Good old business! I am allowed to stand all day under the gateway, roasted on one side, and frozen on the other, and gain, perhaps twenty sous.”
“You know that in summer he has promised to set you up in the fried potato line.”
“Thank ye for nothing; I don’t like the smell of grease.”
“What is it you want, then?”
“Nothing. I feels that I ought to be a gentleman at large.”
Beaumarchef cast a furious glance at the shameless youth, and told him that he would report everything to his master. The boy, however, did not seem to care a pin.