"I'm all right."
"Ouch! Geewhillikins, ma, if you'd burn half a dime's worth of gas till me and Essie get home from work nights we'd save it in wear and tear on our shins. I ain't got no more hips left than a snake."
"It's a waste, Jimmie boy; gas comes so high."
"You should worry, ma! Watch me light 'er up!"
"Be careful in there, Jimmie! Stand on a chair. I got a little supper spread out on the table for Essie and her friend. You take a sandwich yourself—"
"Forty cents in tips to-day, ma."
"Forty cents!"
"Yeh; and a dame in Seventieth Street gimme a quarter and hugged the daylights out of me till my brass buttons made holes in me and cried brineys all over the telegram, and made me read it out loud twice, once for each ear: 'Unhurt, Sweetheart, and homeward bound—Bill.' Can you beat it? Five cents a word!"
"Jimmie, wasn't you glad to carry her a message like that?"
"It's a paying business, ma, if you're lucky enough to deal only in good news."