Larry grinned.
“That depends, doesn’t it? Of course, if you’re calling yourself a dog——”
“Say it all,” Purdick prompted.
“I don’t know how to say it so as to make anybody understand it. But this is the way it looks to me. If you do something for somebody that needs to have it done for ’em, you get a whole lot of satisfaction out of it, don’t you? Makes you feel sort of warm and comfortable all over, doesn’t it?”
“Of course; everybody knows that.”
“Well, if you’re going to be able to jolly yourself over the giving part of it, somebody else will have to do the taking, won’t he?”
Purdick took time to think about it. Trying to be perfectly honest with himself, he had to admit that he had never looked at it in just that way before. But poverty pride—especially when it is backed up by a lot of prejudice—is a pretty stubborn thing.
“If you won’t tell me anything, how am I going to know that this isn’t rotten money I’m spending?” he demanded.
“What do you mean by ‘rotten money’?”
“Money that’s been sweated out of a lot of poor people who couldn’t help themselves.”