“Well, then, could you live on four dollars a day, and—support a family?”
The widow’s eyes dropped again.
“I’m not a skilled workman, either,” protested Barry, waiting for the alluring lids to rise.
“No? What are you?”
“I—I’m vice-president of the company.”
“You receive some compensation, I suppose, for performing the onerous duties of the position?”
“Sure! I get four hundred dollars a month.”
“Well, for the sake of argument, let us say you earn that amount. And let us say that Bricky Hoover, for instance, earns four dollars a day. Do you work any harder for your money than he works for his?”
“But I work with my brains.”
“Your—your what?”