“That’s so, Peg, that’s so,” he agreed heartily. “But there’s always to-morrow, an’ after that another to-morrow. With every new day there’s always a chance. We’ve got a chance, an’ so’s the girl.” 56
The woman dropped into a chair, noticing the cobbler’s smile, which was born to give her hope.
“There ain’t much chance for a bit of a brat like her,” she snarled crossly, and the man answered this statement with eagerness, because the rising inflection in his wife’s voice made it a question.
“Yes, there is, Peg,” he insisted; “yes, there is! Didn’t you say there was hope for me when my legs went bad—that I had a chance for a livin’? Now didn’t you, Peggy? An’ ain’t I got the nattiest little shop this side of way up town?”
Peg paused a moment. Then, “That you have, Lafe; you sure have,” came slowly.
“An’ didn’t I make full sixty cents yesterday?”
“You did, Lafe; you sure did.”
“An’ sixty cents is better’n nothin’, ain’t it, Peg?”
Mrs. Grandoken arose hastily.
“Course ’tis, Lafe! But don’t brag ’cause you made sixty cents. You might a lost your hands same’s your feet. ’Tain’t no credit to you you didn’t. Here, let me wrap you up better! You’ll freeze all that’s left of your legs, if you don’t.”