“My brains, Mrs. Bradley.”
There was a little smile about the widow’s mouth, but Barry was both unsuspecting and helpless.
“Oh, yes,” she responded. “Well, he works with his hands plus his brains, and puts in longer hours than you do besides. Why shouldn’t he get at least as much for his work as you do for yours?”
“But you don’t consider the responsibility, the—the mental burden, the nervous strain, the—the wear and tear.”
“Very good! Let us say then that yours is the harder job, that it is four times as hard as his. How would you like to change places with him, and have it easier?”
“Mrs. Bradley! The idea!”
“Well, how would you like, then, to change jobs with him, and each retain his own salary?”
“Me? Work in the mill, like him, for four hundred dollars a month?”
“Yes.”