“O, yes, sir!” I answered. “You're very, very kind, you're very good to me. I—” I had to stop talking, and take a good big swallow, to keep down my tears; yet, surely, I had nothing to cry about!
“Well, fader-in-law, what vages will you pay?” pursued Mr. Marx.
“Vail, Solly, what vages was dey paying now to boys of his age?”
“Well, they generally start them on two dollars a week.”
“Two tollars a veek, and he boards and clodes himself, hey?”
“Yes, fader-in-law, dot's de system.”
“Vail, Solly, I tell you what I do. I board and clode him, and give him a quarter a veek to get drunk on. Is dot saitisfaictory?”
“But, sir,” I hastened to put in, pained and astonished at his remark, “I—I don't get drunk.”
“O, Lord, Bubby!” cried Mr. Marx, laughing. “You're simply killing! He don't mean get drunk. Dot's only his witty way of saying pocket-money.”
“Oh! I—I understand,” I stammered.